Consumed: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Fated Mates of the Kalixian Warriors Book 6)

by Presley Hall

  “I’m sorry, Tycran,” M’Xelni says, slightly out of breath.

  “No need to apologize.” I shake my head firmly. “You’re here to learn. Let’s go through the drill again, and I’ll show you how to close that opening in your defense.”

  We face off, and I quickly move in, showing him immediately how an opponent with ill intent could strike and hit him directly in his flank. “Keep your elbow down, your weapon ready,” I instruct him. “Make sure you’re aware at all times of the points where an enemy is most likely to strike you.” I gesture at those spots with my own short sword. “Remember that here in this ring, we’re careful not to harm one another, and we fight fairly. An enemy will not—and you shouldn’t either, in combat. If they see an opening, they will take it. It’s life and death out there, not just drills in a training space.”

  M’Xelni nods, backing off as we ready ourselves to spar again.

  As I shrug my shoulders and roll my head back and forth, loosening my muscles to prepare for the next round, I glance over and see that several of the Terran women have gathered at the edge of the arena, chattering quietly among themselves and watching the men. Tordax has stepped out to speak with Rose, leaving me in charge. It gives me a sense of pride, as always, that he trusts me so completely with the training of the warriors.

  I notice one of the women standing slightly off to the side, leaning on the edge of the arena with a smile on her face as she brushes a loose piece of blonde hair behind her ear. She’s wearing a long silk skirt and a complicated-looking top wrapped over her chest, leaving her midriff bare. It’s enough to make me pause for a second, and I scold myself for it immediately.

  Lucy.

  During our stay on the planet Wauru as we worked to return to Kalix, I was given the task of accompanying her and the other women to the market on several occasions. She seemed to take an interest in me at that time, one I was careful to rebuff. Nevertheless, since then, I always seem to notice when she’s among the other women—and I don’t like it. It disturbs my focus, my devotion to our cause: revenge and retribution against the Orkun. For so long, that single-minded goal has occupied every part of my mind.

  Now she has managed to take up some space in my head, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake her loose. I try not to think about her. I deny myself the urges that seeing her rouses in me, but still, whenever she’s around, my gaze goes to her immediately as if drawn to her.

  It’s good that the Terran women are here. They’ve helped our species immeasurably. But I can’t help but wish that I could have somehow remained entirely detached from it all, that they hadn’t been so closely quartered with the Alpha Force for so long.

  M’Xelni steps forward, and I shake my head, refocusing on the task in front of me. I call up my ever-present anger, the desire for revenge, the need to see my people safe, and channel all of it into the fight with this young warrior, driving forward with a purposeful attack in order to show him how quickly his defenses can be overcome in the heat of true battle.

  I channel my anger just enough to give me a greater edge than normal in the fight, but as always—as with everything about me—I keep it tightly controlled. I never lose sight of the fact that I’m fighting a comrade or that this is only practice.

  It takes less than a minute for me to win the fight, striking in the same spot that I showed M’Xelni a moment ago. I strike him hard on the side with the flat of my sword, enough to make him wince, sidestepping and nearly going down. He rights himself immediately and drops his elbow, holding out his spear in front of him.

  “Like this, instead?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I tell him encouragingly. “Once more.”

  By the end of the third round, he’s able to fend off my attack, blocking me when I go for his weak spot and feinting away from me to keep me from pressing my advantage. He spins around and goes back into his fighting stance, striking out this time with his elbow down, his forearm keeping me from slipping easily through his defenses.

  “Good!” I nod sharply as we come to a halt, the dust slowly settling around us. I clap M’Xelni on the shoulder and gesture for Vrexen to come back and go through the drill with him again.

  I allow myself a rare smile as I return to the center to watch all the paired fighters facing off around me.

  Very good, I think with satisfaction. I’ve helped him.

  All in all, that makes this a good day.

  3

  Lucy

  The minute we arrive at the arena, I pick Tycran out amid the warriors, standing in the center with his arms crossed over his chest, surveying the others as they train. I’m slightly disappointed at first to see that he’s only supervising, but it doesn’t take long for him to gesture for one of the other Kalixians, a slightly younger one, to come and work with him. I’m guessing there’s some flaw in his technique, and Tycran is working it out with him.

  Jade stands next to me, watching them with rapt attention as well. For a very different reason, I think to myself with a quiet laugh. She was a professional fighter back on Earth, so I’m sure she’d be happy to watch them all day, just to study their technique… although, of course, she also goes home to one of them every night.

  As I watch Tycran start to move through their fighting forms with the younger warrior, I can feel my heart start to race, desire sweeping through me. This is nothing new. I get all hot and bothered every time I watch them train, but I just can’t help it. They’re gorgeous—barely clothed, seven-plus feet of sweating, rippling muscle, and honorable warriors on top of that. It’s any woman’s fantasy, really. I’ve never hid the fact that I find them devastatingly sexy.

  Which makes me wonder for the hundredth time why the hell I’ve set my sights on Tycran. There are other Kalixian men who would be one hundred percent receptive to my advances. Plenty of them, in fact. Probably even a few of the Alpha Force warriors, particularly the younger ones.

  But, no. I want this one—the frustrating, stoic monk of a warrior who seems to be entirely made of stone. He probably goes back to his quarters after training and meditates or something.

  I know what keeps pulling me back to him though. In all the times we’ve encountered each other, since we met on the ship and more often while living on Wauru, there have been a few instances where I’ve seen a different side to him. It’s as if I get a glimpse past those outer walls for just a brief flash, and I know it’s that mystery that keeps me coming back to him. It’s the reason I can’t seem to develop an interest in anyone else.

  I want to be the one to lay him bare, literally and figuratively, and find out what’s behind that mask. Tycran represents a challenge, and I’ve never been one to shy away from that.

  Watching the two warriors move in sync with one another as they spar, I can’t keep my gaze off him. There are a dozen warriors in the ring, but I only want to stare at Tycran—at his dark hair neatly pulled back into a tight knot behind his large, curving obsidian horns, his broad shoulders, and the chiseled cuts of muscle that disappear into his loincloth. He’s slightly smaller in stature than some of the others, but every bit as muscular, and still taller than most human men.

  He sidesteps, making his loincloth shift slightly, but as usual, the tiny strip of leather still manages to shield the most interesting bits.

  The third round of their fight ends, and I hear Jade say something appreciative about how well he showed the other warrior how to fix the fault in his technique. But I barely hear her words. I’m still entirely focused on Tycran as he claps the other warrior on the shoulder, his face breaking into a wide grin.

  My arousal spikes even higher, my heart doing a little flip in my chest.

  I’ve only ever seen him smile like that—hell, smile at all—a few times. But when he does, it’s fucking breathtaking. I can see the man he could be if he’d step out from behind those walls he’s built around himself. It makes me wonder what he was like before all of this, because I know his stoicism must have something to do with the tr
agedy that befell Kalix. What was he like as a younger man? Did he once laugh and joke? Was he ever carefree?

  He glances over at us then, just for a second, as he returns to the center of the ring. My breath catches in my throat as his gaze locks with mine… and then his smile vanishes, replaced with the stony expression I’ve come to know so well.

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes with frustration. Dammit.

  “Ah. Now I know why you came with us,” Autumn comments with a laugh, stepping closer to nudge me. “Your boyfriend is here.”

  “He’s hardly my boyfriend.” I grimace, straightening up. “Did you see that? His whole face shut down when he saw me.”

  “Just invite him to one of your pole dancing classes,” Rose says, joining in. “Let him see you do one of your routines. He won’t be able to resist then.”

  “I would if I thought he’d come,” I retort, but I can’t help but smile. It’s ridiculous, I know—all of it. And the teasing of the other women helps lighten the mood. It’s not as if I’m ashamed of it. They all know I want him. Rose and Autumn in particular have been invested in my pursuit of him since Wauru. I think they might have actually placed bets.

  A while later, Tordax emerges from the ring again, this time stopping to kiss Rose more deeply than before. He looks down, touching her visible belly with a radiant light in his eyes that makes it plain how happy he is, and the look she gives him back is full of adoration.

  He wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses her again, and shes arches toward him a little, lost in the passion of the kiss. It makes my heart swell in my chest to see how in love they are. They’re clearly crazy about each other.

  It’s almost enough to make me want a relationship like that—but not quite. I’m not interested in permanent mate bonds and being tied down, having my soul recognized by another and all that mushy stuff, or getting knocked up.

  I just want to freaking get laid by a hot, muscular alien. Just a wild night of passion with a warrior from a different planet, which is not something I ever thought existed, let alone would be an option. Why is that so hard?

  Oh, wait. The small voice in my head laughs at me as I turn away from the arena. It’s because you’ve set your sights on the one who’s basically a marble statue.

  That’s an apt description for Tycran, I realize.

  Sexy, perfectly sculpted… and utterly unattainable.

  4

  Tycran

  Every day, my routine is the same.

  I wake before the sunrise, in the barracks where the members of the Alpha Force without families are housed. I keep my pod simple and spartan, only the necessities, without distractions or unnecessary items that could lead to indulgence, which in turn can lead to softness. I bathe in the communal pool and then go back up to my pod, sitting cross-legged by the window that faces the sun and meditating as the gray sky turns blue.

  I meditate on many things. On what befell Kalix, on the genocide of my people by the Orkun, on the battles that have followed, and on the mission ahead of us. I cycle through my emotions—grief, anger, rage, the need for vengeance—so that I can master them, giving me the ability to channel them at will. These emotions, when controlled, have helped me to win battle after battle. It’s only when they’re allowed to flow unchecked that they become a danger.

  Purpose is useful. Unharnessed grief and rage are not.

  Some of the warriors choose to dress in the Jocian fashion while in the capital city and not in the training ring, but I stick to the Alpha Force uniform of a simple loincloth. It’s yet another way of simplifying my life, of paring it down to the barest of necessities—there’s no need to think about what to wear from day to day. I keep my hair long, knotting it at the back of my head in the morning. The ease of it suits me.

  There have been times when I’ve wondered if this way of life has simply become an obsession of another kind, or if eschewing all pleasures is a way of punishing myself for my own failings. After all, it’s entirely self-imposed. At times, Tordax has even expressed concern over it. Ultimately, however, he’s come to the same conclusion as everyone else—that it’s my choice to make.

  I’ve lost so much else. I lost my entire family, all to the Orkun. But the choice of how to live my life, at least, is still mine.

  There’s no set time to my meditation. I can feel it when the emotions settle, when the frightened, angry young boy of fifteen years ago becomes the hardened warrior I am now. I can feel my focus snap into place, and I know I’m ready to face yet another day.

  This morning, my business consists of a war council at the palace, which will no doubt be endless and full of a great deal of arguing about the way forward. King Khrelan, as always, will listen to all sides impartially, and then make a decision at the end of all of it.

  Of everyone I know, our king is one of the men I respect most. He’s a Kalixian of discipline and self-control, who chooses the good of his people over his own desires.

  The story of him and his Irisa is widely known now. The mate bond chose her for him almost as soon as she set foot in his palace, but he fought against it until he knew that the bonds with the Terran women were best for the future of Kalix. His discipline might not be as severe as mine, but I’ve always admired his fair and just rulership.

  It takes very little time for me to make my way from the barracks where I live to the palace. As usual, I’m one of the first to arrive at the meeting. Several Alpha Force warriors file in a moment later, along with members of other military squadrons and the king’s ministers.

  This is one of many war councils we’ve had recently, since the formerly disgraced Prince Brele returned from exile with a wealth of information about Orkun strategy and military strength cleverly uploaded into his brain from a crashed ship.

  With that information, we now have a clearer picture of the enemy than we’ve ever had before.

  For the first time, I’ve started to feel that there’s a real chance we might defeat the Orkun. Not just go to our deaths fighting for vengeance, but eradicate them entirely, removing the danger that they pose to the universe. It goes hand in hand with the faint hope that seems to have returned to Kalix since two of the Terran women have become pregnant—the possibility of offspring. Even those who dissented against the bonds have grown quieter since Malav and his Irisa announced her pregnancy.

  But, as always, there’s division among us about how we should move forward.

  “We should attack,” Vrexen says firmly. A few of the younger warriors, including Dravar and Zhori, murmur their agreement. “We have the advantage now. We know their military locations, their strength, and what their next move is likely to be. We should strike fast and hard.”

  Tordax and Malav glance at each other, and then at Khrelan. “The opportunity to attack is tempting,” Tordax agrees. “There’s a high chance of success with the information we have now. But it would not come without loss of life. And it would be an aggressive move. Whatever is left of the Orkun force afterward, they’ll strike back, and they’ll strike here.”

  “They could release a second biological weapon,” Brele interjects, his robotic eye glowing. “There is a risk of that. We need to take all possibilities into account and not rush in headlong simply because we want vengeance.”

  Vengeance.

  The word makes my blood run hot. All of my careful discipline, all of my single-mindedness, is to achieve that end.

  I can recognize the wisdom in Tordax and Malav’s caution, and in Brele’s too. But a part of me agrees with the younger warriors. The thought of battle, of taking this war to the Orkun and pressing our advantage, makes me feel almost light-headed with longing.

  “We could use this information to shore up our defenses,” Malav points out. “To ready ourselves so that if another attack comes, Kalix is not unprepared. We won our last battle with the Orkun, but it wasn’t easy.”

  “When another attack comes!” Vrexen calls out, and I see a few of the council members nodding in agreement.
But several of the ministers are frowning and shaking their heads.

  “We should use this information to protect our planet, and to that end alone,” one of the ministers says firmly, standing. “We should not risk the women who have come here, their children, or the future of our entire race by going on the offensive. An offensive attack would require almost all of our military force, leaving Kalix largely undefended. We have no guarantees that we would win if we take the fight to the Orkun. We do know that we can shore up our defenses here, as Malav said. I agree with Vrexen that a fight is inevitable. But we should wait here and prepare for it.”

  “While they continue amassing weapons and technology? What if they discover that their data has been tampered with? We should strike now, while we have the advantage!”

  The discussion devolves into a cacophony of voices, each rising over the other to shout out what they think the right course of action is—to make our stand here, to go and fight, to attack, to defend. I sit back, knowing that my one voice in all of it isn’t going to make a difference. And besides, I’m not entirely sure on which side of the debate I land.

  I know the measured approach that Tordax and Malav are taking is likely the wisest course of action. But I want to see the Orkun pay for what they did. And I’m not entirely sure that giving them more time to develop their weaponry is wise.

  Brele stands, pointing to a spot on the digital map projected on the table. “This small moon that orbits the Orkun planet is being used as a weapons base. They develop their military tech here—including the virus here and their high-tech fighter ships. There are rudimentary plans for more weapons, both physical and possibly biological.”

  That piques my interest. I lean forward, examining the moon that Brele has pointed out. Oryn.

  It takes everything in me not to throw my vote into the ring for attacking. I think of scientists there, developing tech that could decimate our people a second time, of engineers working on prototypes for weapons that can kill more efficiently. It makes my stomach knot, a sick, cold feeling working its way through my blood. I can feel my emotions rising to the surface, bubbling up and threatening to undo my calm.