Jacole watched Rayzor’s jaw clench and the ridges on his brow grow deeper. He sucked in a final breath, visibly trying to gain control of his emotions.
She felt her own nose sting and tears prick her eyes. She bit her lip. For ten years—ten fucking years—her man had secretly taken on the role of caretaker for Melachine, Rayzor’s mother, not once telling Rayzor or Melachine about the other, keeping it secret for all this time for their own safety.
Suddenly her new life in the four sectors clicked into place like a puzzle. She could literally hear links snapping together. This part and that part, all that had been disparate—it sewed itself together into one large quilt of certainty.
Oh hell, fuck this “royal pigment” thing. Fuck her worries that Joyzal wasn’t a man who could do forever. In actuality, it had been her. She was the wimp who wasn’t ready for forever. This man was pure gold. She wasn’t worthy of him. She needed to snap him up, hold on tight, and never let him go. Her doubt cleared instantly like clouds after a storm. All that remained were clear skies on the horizon and sun shining sparkly and bright.
Joyzal was her mate, and she loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone or anything in her whole life.
Her heart grew three times its size that day. Just like the Grinch.
“Joyzal,” she whispered.
He tried to meet her gaze, but Rayzor approached and cupped his hand behind Joyzal’s neck. He brought Joyzal in for a man-hug, both of their foreheads tipped forward and touching. “I place your honor before mine,” Rayzor vowed to his friend. “If your line ever needs my assistance…”
“You have already done that for me,” Joyzal answered thickly. “You are here, helping me rescue my Bride.”
Rayzor nodded and stepped back. “Wherever, whenever you need me, I am by your side.” He straightened and pounded his chest with a closed fist. “We are brothers now. Your line is my line.”
Joyzal pounded his own chest, returning the gesture, and agreed, “Your line is my line.”
“Rayzor?” Melachine asked. “Have you started your line…?”
He turned toward her. “Yes. I have a mate. My Bride is also human. My line is complete. Rayzor of Thirteen arrived four moon cycles ago.”
She gave him a watery smile. “I am happy for you, my son.”
Her heart broke for Rayzor. For chrissake, he had a wife and a child, so that meant Melachine had a grandchild she’d never met. How heartbreaking. Jacole made a vow to herself that she would join Joyzal in this. She would help in any way she could. Not because it was a burden that must be dealt with, but out of love and caring. Joyzal was an orphan, and this was the family he’d created for himself. Well, she was also an orphan now. This would be her family, too.
“Kayzon?” Rayzor questioned, looking between both Melachine and Joyzal.
“I don’t know where your brother is,” Melachine answered. “I didn’t know until this moment that Joyzal has known you all this time. That you are friends…” She met Joyzal’s gaze. “Joyzal, do you know where Kayzon is?”
Joyzal shook his head. “No, I don’t. I know as much as Rayzor knows, that your son is also a Bounty Hunter, working on the opposite side of the four sectors. I have not seen him. Because your mate, Kroga of Seventy-Five was a traitor, the Xylan Government took a harsh stance and locked all information concerning your line. I was unable to find mention of their location in the database. I am sorry for your pain, Melachine. You know why I can never speak to you of your sons.”
“I know,” she agreed. “My eyes are greedy, taking in the sight of my beautiful offspring. I feel joy at the start of his line. I understand that after this moment I will order the computer to erase this message. There must be no trace. No contact. Joyzal will continue to tell me nothing, and he will tell you nothing. This is for the good of our line as a whole. This will keep us all safe and alive. If the Imperial Fleet or Council discovered our contact…”
“Yes, it would be a disaster. I agree with the necessity of this plan,” Rayzor responded.
“The Imperial Fleet will reach hailing distance in five minutes,” the computer reported.
“I love you, my son,” Melachine said. “I will cherish this time.”
“I love you,” Rayzor told her.
“Joyzal, remember, you are both my sons. I have always known you have the instinct of a warrior of old. Today my confidence in you was rewarded.”
The screen went black. The two warriors were quiet, their heads bowed.
“We have to find somewhere to hide Rayzor before the Imperial Army gets here,” Jacole reluctantly reminded them. “Remember, Rayzor shouldn’t be on this mission. You guys said he doesn’t have a Hunter license anymore…”
The two warriors blinked out of their inertia. Rayzor looked over at Joyzal and said casually, “I’ll take the transporter.”
Joyzal straightened. “That’ll work.”
The two warriors started walking to the door of the bridge. Joyzal moved close to her and guided her forward with one hand lightly touching her back. They all walked quietly together to the transporter room, which was lined up next to the medical bay and the holo-deck. It took mere seconds for Joyzal to tap in the code and for Rayzor to instantly disappear off the ship.
“I don’t even understand you two,” she told Joyzal. “All of that fighting and he could’ve just taken the transporter home?”
Joyzal shrugged. “Rayzor hates using the transporter. Always has. He thinks it’s a death trap.”
“Is it?”
Joyzal paused. “On older ships, yes. On my new ship? No.”
She stepped forward and slid both of her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, and she could feel his chin resting on top of her head. She sighed with contentment.
“Let me get this straight,” she said. “You took on Rayzor’s mother as your mother for all these years, never telling either of them about the other in order to keep them both safe?”
“Yes.”
He was so fucking loyal he made George Washington look disloyal. She tightened her arms around his waist, trying to hug him harder. “What would have happened if the Imperial Fleet discovered them communicating?”
“Immediate execution, for both of them.”
“Oh.”
“And why were they Banished in the first place?”
“Because Rayzor’s father is a traitor to Xylan. His punishment was banishment of his line for two generations.”
“Rayzor and his brother and Melachine weren’t involved?”
“No, they were innocent.”
“That sucks. It’s terrible that they have to pay for what he did.”
“I agree.”
“Incoming message for Jacole of Two,” the computer interrupted.
Joyzal cursed. He let go and stepped gently out of her embrace.
“For me?” she asked. Because, really, who would be calling her? She didn’t know anyone out here in outer space. “Who is it?”
“A representative from the Imperial Xylan Fleet,” Joyzal muttered. “They’ve found us.”
“Why do they want to talk to me? Shouldn’t they want to talk to you? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oh, it makes perfect sense,” he answered, his jaws tight. He exhaled and stroked her arm. “This,” he said, gently pressing a claw into her skin for emphasis. “It’s about this. They are here because they know of your royal pigment. The Bounty Hunter Guild has had time to review the recording of my mission to extract THX309. By now they’ve noted that a female of royal pigment was aboard my ship. I made a notation in my log that I mated with one of the rescued females. They know that female is you.” He lifted his chin and spoke louder. “Computer, allow message. Play the vid here,” he ordered.
“Confirmed.”
The screen blinked to life.
Jacole couldn’t believe what she saw before her. This guy was amazing. A handsome, dark-skinned Xylan warrior app
eared on the screen. He was darker than Melachine, darker than Rayzor. His skin had a shine to it that seemed to suck in and yet reflect the surrounding light. Even with her limited knowledge of Xylan and their customs, Jacole could tell this man was someone very important. His bearing was noble, his clothes screamed money. Who was this guy?
The man scanned Joyzal, looking him up and down and obviously finding her husband wanting. “Margol,” he sniffed.
Joyzal growled.
Jacole was annoyed at this disrespect toward her husband.
The warrior paused to meet her gaze with his own striking, hazel-colored eyes, highlighted with sparks of gold. “I am Zhoryan of Eighty-Two,” he told her with a small bow of his head. “I am the Imperial Warlord of Sector One. I place your honor before mine,” he intoned.
Oh hell. Even she knew what that meant. Jacole bit her lip. Joyzal grabbed the hilt of his blade. “Jacole of Two is my Bride,” he snarled. “She carries my offspring. You have no claim here. There is no need for you to make this offer.”
The warlord raised a brow, which lifted his carefully defined ridges with hints of silver in between. Christ, the man was amazing. She could study him all day.
The warlord glared at her husband. “A Margol has no business mating with a Xylan female of royal pigment,” he said to Joyzal. “This is a mistake that must be rectified immediately. You found her while on a mission. This is a loophole in the mating ritual that will be closed. She was not formally presented to you by the champion and manager of her line for mating compatibility. You know it is Xylan custom for lines to remain pure. I am here to take this female home to Chronos and reunite her with her line.”
The warlord directed his next words to her again. “Do not worry. The mating of a female of royal pigment to a Margol is not considered legally binding. You have the right to break your mating bond if you so choose and to terminate any resulting pregnancy.”
Joyzal made a noise. She looked over at him and saw a man about to come undone. He looked like he was literally about to explode. He pulled out his blade. “My Bride is not going to Chronos, and my offspring will not be terminated. I will die here today fighting the whole damn Imperial Fleet before I let that happen.”
The warlord locked eyes with Joyzal. “Warrior, you are dishonored. A Margol who forces mating compatibility on females of royal pigment are the lowest type of scum. I promise you will die a slow and miserable death. I will kill you myself before the madness takes you.”
“I did not force mating compatibility on Jacole of Two. I would never touch a female of royal pigment without a formal offer. She offered herself to me.”
“You lie!” the warlord shouted.
Joyzal possessively cupped his hand around the back of Jacole’s neck, drawing her into his side. “This Bride is mine. I have claimed her and planted my seed in her womb. I have pounded my shaft in her core many times, and she screamed out her pleasure. You have no rights here.”
Her cheeks heated as embarrassment rushed through her like a river. “I think I’ve finally made up my mind,” she said quickly, interrupting their argument. Jeez, Xylans liked to yell and fight a lot, didn’t they? And dear God, if Joyzal said one more word to anyone about her screaming orgasms, she was going to lay him out.
They both looked at her quizzically. Joyzal’s eyes were wild, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He dropped his hand from behind her neck. She placed a comforting palm on his forearm.
“You are not leaving,” he snarled.
“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “I’m not leaving.” She turned and met the gaze of the warlord, who looked ready to jump out of the screen and start World War III with her new husband. “First, I want to thank you for your offer,” she told him in a placating tone. “I appreciate the fact that you’re trying to help me. Your offer would have been exactly what I needed if I were actually in trouble here, so again, I appreciate how you’re trying to help. But the thing you’re both forgetting, and I don’t know how, is that I’m not Xylan, I’m human. I’m an Earthling. An Earthling who happens to have dark skin that looks like royal pigment, I guess, to the both of you. So, because I’m not Xylan, the Scales of Xylan Law and your rules about females with royal pigment don’t apply to me.”
The warlord’s mouth opened and then shut. He appeared to be thinking about that. “You are of royal pigment…” He trailed off. “I will call in a Judge to handle this dispute,” he decided.
“No, no, please, there is no need. Let me make this easy for you. What my mate says is true, I did offer my hand to him to test mating compatibility. It was my choice, my idea. I made the offer. All me. He is innocent. He didn’t force mating compatibility. And know this…I want to stay with Joyzal. I am his Bride. I carry his offspring. I choose Joyzal of Six.”
“You choose to remain the Bride of Joyzal of Six?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Yes.” She nodded.
The warlord looked angry again, the metallic threads in the ridges on his forehead becoming more pronounced. “Female, you are under duress. Confused. You do not understand your rights. No female of royal pigment chooses to mate with a…” He waved a clawed hand at Joyzal. “A Margol,” he spat. “You couldn’t possibly have offered to test with this half-color. He must have forced compatibility on you, which is a crime. I will bring the Judge and a counselor to consult with you. You need help. Again, female, I place my honor before yours.”
She lifted her chin and raised her voice. “No, thank you. I am fine. I choose Joyzal. Don’t forget I am actually human. I don’t care about the rules you have in your culture about a Xylan with royal pigment. Therefore I don’t care if he’s Margol. I don’t even know what that means. I like his skin color. I think he’s beautiful the way he is. I’m excited to see our offspring, to see a child who looks like Joyzal.”
“You think this Margol is beautiful the way he is?” the warlord responded, incredulous.
Joyzal took her by the shoulders and pushed her behind him. He stood in front of her, assuring that his was the only image in the vid screen. The only thing the warlord could now see. “Zhoryan of Eighty-Two my Bride has made her decision. All decisions made by Brides are final. You have to accept that she has made her choice, and she chooses me. I have properly claimed her with a customary mating ritual and filled her with my offspring, and she has verbally declared in front of witnesses that she chooses to join my line and accepts me as her mate. The declaration has been recorded. Our mating is now legally binding. She is human and not Xylan, therefore my designation as Margol has no weight in this mating. You placed your honor before hers, as is required by law, and she declined your help. You have done all that needs to be done in this instance. Your services are no longer necessary.” Joyzal swiped his hand across the circular red light and cut off the vid feed. The screen went dark and then blinked out of sight.
Jacole let out a sigh of relief. “Do you think that’s going to work, or—”
Joyzal turned with a growl and grabbed her with one arm. He backed her up against the wall with a thud and cupped her face with his hands. He kissed her with harsh lips, wet and hot, cutting off anything else she had to say. She opened to him, wrapping her arms back around his waist, melting into him. His tongue dove into her mouth, and she sucked, wanting him as close as was humanly—or not humanly—possible. Everything else around them disappeared. It was just the two of them. She fisted his shirt, tugging it up so she could run her hands all over his ridiculously tight abs. He let go and broke their kiss for a moment, taking in deep gulps of air, and tugged his tunic off over his head. Then he was back, diving into her, holding her tight, naked male chest pressed against her. They were kissing again as if their lives depended upon it. His hands went under her tunic and grabbed her breasts, cupping them and pinching her nipples. Her knees went weak.
His hands roamed down her sides and back and cupped her buttocks. He groaned against her lips.
She broke off the kiss. “You’re mine, Joy,
” she croaked out. “Mine.”
He licked her neck. “Is that the nickname you have chosen for me?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes. It means you are the joy of my life.” Okay, maybe that was a bit hokey and all kinds of corny, but dammit he was the joy of her life. He was.
“I’m fucking you now. I can’t wait.”
He held on to her, swung her around and walked her to the center of the bridge. His hand pressed against her back, pushing her over the console. She grabbed on to the edge for stability. He tore off her pants in record time, just ripped them right the hell off. Jesus, the man was freakishly strong. She gasped as air blew across her exposed ass and pussy. Her warrior wasn’t messing around when he said he needed to fuck her. When he said now, he meant now.
He grabbed her ass, squeezed, and slapped a hand on her cheek, spanking her. “Goddamn, I love your ass.”
Jacole grinned. She knew she had a nice ass. Large, but not too large, round, firm, high. Accentuated by a small waist. Basically, she considered it her best feature.
His claws dug into her ass cheeks, and she moaned at the exquisite sensation of pain and pleasure. “I’m about to fuck you hard, but first, time for your punishment.”
“My what?”
The stinging slap had her body humming with need. She realized he’d been toying with her. That first spank had been light. This one was rough.
“From now on you will follow my orders.” He slapped her again, his open palm targeting the area nearest her core. It hurt so good. She moaned in response. “You will not—” slap, slap “—risk the life of our offspring or the life of my mate again—” slap.
“I promise,” she squealed. “I won’t do it again.”
She was dizzy with need. His fingers dug into her core, feeling how embarrassingly wet she already was. Her ass was burning, and it turned her on more. She could hear the sound of his fingers moving around in the slick heat. He leaned down and licked her ass. Oh fuck, her warrior was dirty.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His response was the prodding of his cock at her entrance. “Spread your legs.”
Joyzal's Prize (Alien Bounty Hunters Book 2) Page 10
