Warrior Awakening: Alien Warrior Science Fiction Fantasy Romance (Archan's of Ailaut Book 1)

by S. A. Ravel

  “Sure, you are.” He winked and entered his aerial transport, a beat-up thing that made her realize just how pampered she was as Ishaiq’s employee.

  Abella paused in the courtyard, taking a deep breath of the briny air to clear her head, before getting on with her evening.

  7

  By the end of the week, repairs on the market district were nearly complete, and the staff trickled in for work. That helped ease some of the burden of Binita Seri’s residence in the Skyhall. Thankfully, Ishaiq’s guest wasn’t as demanding as Abella had expected.

  She only saw Seri when she delivered her meals at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Abella found the Aikalaan woman sitting in the sun on her balcony, electronic pad in her hands. Each time, she thanked Abella with reserved warmth for attending to her, then went back to her reading.

  Abella didn’t expect anything different when she delivered a breakfast of grilled fish, buttered porridge, and sliced fruit to the guest room. But as Abella set the tray on the table, Seri set the pad to the side and smiled at her, the gesture warming her eyes and bringing light to her face.

  “Kashiante, Abella,” she said, giving thanks in her native tongue. “Really, you’ve been very kind to look after me so well. Especially with the stress of the Archan’s waking.”

  What did that mean? “It’s no trouble at all, Binita,” she said.

  Seri shook her head, the bells on her armbands jingling softly. “Please, call me Seri. I wonder if you might have time to sit with me for a while?”

  Abella calculated the minutes she had until Ishaiq’s breakfast was ready before she nodded. “I have a few minutes, yes. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything is fine. Only…” Seri paused, then sighed. “My father’s Skyhall is a bit more crowded. I find the silence here rather oppressive.”

  Abella raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me if I’m being rude, but wouldn’t you rather be talking to the Archan?”

  Seri’s lips pursed. “Ishaiq is going through a difficult time right now. The Waking leaves us lost, confused. It’s especially difficult for the eldest among us. Each time we Awaken, it takes longer to return to clarity.”

  “So, he’s not good company right now.”

  “He’s doing better than he should be, actually. I’ve seen Aikalah half his age go mad from the Waking. I think he’ll be fully back to himself quite soon.”

  Abella wasn’t sure why, but a sense of relief washed over her. “That’s good to hear.”

  Seri studied her. “Do you enjoy serving the Archan?”

  As the words left Seri’s lips, Abella felt a familiar presence in her mind.

  Ishaiq.

  “I haven’t worked here long,” she said. “I only arrived a day or so before you did. The Archan didn’t Wake until I’d already started.”

  Seri nodded and reached for a slice of red melon. She couldn’t say why, but Abella could swear the Aikalaan woman was stalling while she considered the right way to broach the subject in her mind.

  “They say that our kind comes through the Waking easiest when we have something to return to. Something to ground us to reality. Like an anchor. Do you understand?”

  Abella responded, “It makes sense. If you have family or business to take care of, that’s an incentive not to stay in bed, so to speak.”

  “Ishaiq’s Wakening has gone rather smoothly… for Ishaiq. This time. We were wondering what the difference is.”

  Abella shrugged, curious as to the we Seri was referring.

  She appeared to choose her words delicately. “We think this time he has an anchor.” Seri’s wings twitched. “There is no subtle way to ask this, but…”

  “You think I’m the difference.” Abella’s voice was flat with surety.

  Seri sighed. “I have offended you.”

  Abella shook her head. She wasn’t offended. She could feel Ishaiq’s presence as clearly as if he stood right next to her.

  “I don’t think I’m his anchor,” she said. How could she be? She wasn’t doing anything. Just… being. Surely that wasn’t enough?

  “But I sense an affinity between the two of you.” Seri’s expression hardened. It was a subtle, feminine hardening, but hardening nonetheless. “Even when you pretend to be a submissive servant, I see how he watches you. How you respond to him before he even speaks.”

  Abella wasn’t sure what kind of hot water she was in. Ishaiq was her employer, so Seri really couldn’t do anything to her. But it wasn’t pleasant for her, as an employee, to be an object of jealousy of the Archan’s guest.

  “There isn’t anything between us,” Abella said, firm. “He is my employer. That’s all.”

  Seri watched her for a moment longer, then sighed and turned away. “Pity. It would have made things simpler.”

  Abella wasn’t certain how to take that statement, but Seri’s body language didn’t encourage further discussion. Abella rose to her feet and smoothed the folds in her skirt.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Binita, I should see that the Archan gets his breakfast.”

  Seri smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, of course. Thank you for indulging me.” She turned back to her reading tablet just as Abella stepped through the door.

  Back on the lowest level, Abella left instructions for Mirabel to take Ishaiq’s breakfast up to the penthouse. She grabbed a canvas bag from one of the hooks in the kitchen and took a transport to the ground, parking it in an area designated for that purpose, in the shadow of the Skyhall. Instead of heading to the cafe or market stalls, she turned left and walked to the secluded beach on the far side of the Skyhall.

  Ishaiq’s presence stayed with her, becoming more defined as he flew out of the penthouse. She didn’t need to look back to know that the footsteps behind her belonged to him. She could feel the gentle breeze shift to a gushing wind, see the calm waters become tumbling waves.

  “You’re troubled,” he said as he stood beside her. The breeze ruffled his hair and she recalled the day he’d emerged from the sea. His hair was dry now, his eyes calm. But when he turned his head and looked at her, she realized the same wild creature was still there, under the surface.

  “I would say you’re observant, but it doesn’t count when you can read my mind.”

  The words sounded more flippant than she intended. She winced, but if he was offended or annoyed by her words, it didn’t show on his face. Slowly, she felt his connection to her mind recede.

  “I know you have questions, Abella,” he said. “I don’t need access to your thoughts to know that. Ask them.”

  “Seri mentioned anchors. Am I your anchor?”

  Ishaiq raised an eyebrow, expression mild. “Seri speaks of things that don’t concern her.”

  “And?”

  His citrine eyes were inscrutable. Finally, he shook his head. “That’s not your real question.”

  She stiffened. “But it’s the one I asked.”

  “What you really want to know is, what does it mean that you are my anchor.”

  It was a struggle not to step back, not to lash out in defensiveness. “Why don’t you stay out of my head and answer the damn question I asked?” She stepped back as soon as the sharp words left her mouth, but he simply shook his head, a dark light of amusement in his eyes.

  “I can no more stay out of your mind than you can mine. The connection is not one I forged on purpose, or one I can abolish—not without damaging your brain.” His wings lifted in an angel’s shrug. “I assume you wish your mind to remain intact.”

  She inhaled, struggling for calm, and said nothing.

  He watched her. Waited.

  Abella turned back to the water. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Fingers brushed against her arm, goosebumps rising on her skin in the wake of his touch. Suddenly, she was aware of his presence in an entirely different way. His caress sent waves of warmth through her skin.

  “I did answer.”

  Abella closed her eyes. “Seri wanted
to know.”

  “She would, if she is to become my consort.” His voice was closer, just beyond her closed lids, and low. The intimate register he used when he spoke her name as if to claim her.

  “I should leave, then. That can’t be comfortable for any woman—knowing her man has a connection with another woman.”

  She felt the rush of his breath blow past her ear, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you tried to leave?”

  She turned away. “You told me I am a prisoner.”

  “Is the cage so unappealing?” An arm slid around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. There was no denying him; he was too strong. “Do you perceive there is no reward for anchoring an Archan to sanity?”

  Her breath caught. She turned in his arms, opening her eyes to look up. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, assume that the sudden flare of sensual warmth meant anything. To him, or to her. It didn’t matter how familiar he felt, how comfortably his mind melded with hers. She didn’t know him. She wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers.

  His smile mocked her thoughts. And then his head lowered, lips brushing over hers. The kiss was gentle, at first, almost tender. But little by little, Abella felt the intensity grow, sending tendrils of light pleasure through her. She’d never been kissed like that. She’d never even fantasized about it.

  And then the tenor of the kiss changed. His body stiffened and the heat of his skin flared to near scorching.

  “It seems,” he said, pulling away to study her face with blazing eyes, “that my power, my body, recognizes something I do not.”

  And was the implication that he wouldn’t want her otherwise? She struggled to frame her words… politely. “All of this is your choice. No one is making you kiss me. It’s actually sexual harassment.”

  He laughed. She’d never heard him laugh before and her eyes closed, back arching. Even his damn laugh was magical. And then his hands were on her, roving up and down her back, skimming her buttocks and sweeping up to caress the sides of her breasts.

  “I see no reason to fight what appears inevitable,” he said. “You are here, and already mine. Beautiful, possessed of spirit and intelligence. Willing to have me. You are willing to have me, Abella?”

  Oh, God. The words. He spoke with a chocolate voice dipped in caramel and then seared with flame. How could he make the word willing sound intensely sexual?

  “I—“

  His hand tangled in her hair. “Look at me.”

  She obeyed. His expression warned her, even if the predatory stillness in her mind already didn’t. The waiting. The readiness to pounce.

  “Don’t lie to me, Abella. When I take you, it will not be because you were coerced. Tell me.”

  Could she get out of this by protesting? Change her fate by telling a simple lie? She spoke. “I want you. But it makes no sense and you could hurt me.”

  Satisfaction on his face, a flare of triumph. As if the outcome of her will against his had ever been in doubt. What woman would deny him? Could deny him?

  But… “I’m not ready yet.”

  His head lowered, hand tightening in her hair. “No. I can wait. But for now…”

  For now, he kissed her again, holding her close to devour her mouth and enflame her hesitant desire. When her body began to truly, madly, burn, Ishaiq broke the kiss.

  He took a step back, letting the cool ocean air replace his warmth. “I must choose a consort if I am not to battle with the Conclave. But the woman will be of my choosing, not theirs.”

  He took off in a powerful vertical thrust, winging his way up to the Skyhall. Abella sat down in the sand, her knees needing relief from her weight, watching the waves and trying to make herself see reason.

  She knew her weakness. Being needed. But there was a difference between someone needing her, and someone needing her to stay sane. That was way too much drama. Hadn’t she always secretly thought women who fell for the fractured, bad-boy type were silly? Give her a boring, stable man who burned spaghetti over a pretty, drama boy any day. Except the Archan was no mere pretty, drama boy. He was a powerful, ancient being. A man with more strength in his pinkie than she contained in her body. And his instability was temporary.

  So, the real problem was—what happened when he no longer needed her? Where would she be then?

  His presence in her mind, the storm cloud and brine scent of the sea, flavored by disapproval.

  I keep what is mine.

  And then she was alone again. And more shaken than ever.

  By sunset, Abella felt calm enough to go back and oversee dinner preparations. When Ishaiq felt more secure in the Waking, he would realize that anything between them was impossible. She just had to avoid too many more kisses until then, for both their sakes.

  Twilight on Ailaut was longer than on Earth. She walked along the beach. On the way, she passed a fisherman, pulling a net full of the day’s catch.

  “Freshest catch in the village, Miss,” he said. “I always give the Archan’s household a good deal, too.”

  “You supply the Skyhall?” she asked.

  The man shrugged. “Well, I used to when the last housekeeper was here. But each one tends to want their own suppliers.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Oh, must be twelve years now.” He turned his eyes toward the penthouse at the top of the tower. “I got here a few years before he went to ground. Some of the old timers were nervous about the whole thing. Said all hell breaks loose when an Aikalaan wakes up. Some of the ancients have been known to destroy their own towers. So, they say.”

  Abella wished someone had told her the same rumor. But the agency probably didn’t want to scare fresh recruits away. It was just as well. Even if she had known, she would have taken the job anyway.

  “Did they say what causes it?” she asked.

  “Nah. None of them had ever seen it. And to tell the truth, I didn’t believe them until…”

  “Until it actually happened.”

  The man rubbed his forehead and nodded. “Yeah. But, it doesn’t seem that bad this time, though, all things considered.”

  “Come to the Skyhall tomorrow afternoon with nine pounds of your freshest catch. If it meets the Archan’s standards, the contract is yours.”

  The man grinned and saluted. Abella turned toward the tower, her eyes gliding up the smooth curves until they settled on the glittering penthouse. She knew he was there, though from the ground she couldn’t see him. She could always feel his presence, even when he didn’t reach into her mind. Whatever connected them wasn’t physical or based on anything as shallow as appearance. The first time they spoke through the connection, they hadn’t even seen one another.

  She closed her eyes and willed her awareness to push forward. In her mind’s eye, she rose from the ground, the way she’d seen the Aikalah do so many times. She moved up the tower, reaching toward him, but her shaky grasp on the connection wasn’t strong enough to reach him.

  It didn’t have to be. Just as she was about to give up, Abella felt his presence reach for her, like a hand guiding her out of a dense fog. It wrapped around her, the familiar warmth she’d felt when he held her on the shore.

  His guess had been right. Abella had invited him into her mind without even a second thought. She expected him to be smug about it, but there was no pride or arrogance in his mind. Only acceptance. And waiting, as if she still had a decision to make? But what decision?

  Her mind flashed to their kiss and she flinched away. The immortal Aikalaan needed her, but more than that, he wanted her. Every bit of herself that she was willing to give.

  Abella pulled away, plummeting back into her body. The breeze that blew off the ocean wasn’t cold, but she felt the need for a physical sensation to ground herself. She turned toward the village and started walking again. Mirabel could manage dinner without her for one night.

  8

  “I will ask my brother to escort me home,” Seri said in her quie
t voice.

  Ishaiq turned to look at her. Focused, because if he didn’t give himself something to think about, his rage would consume him.

  Abella was leaving the island. Against his explicit command, despite his reasonable explanations of the consequences. She was leaving, crossing the water to the mainland where his connection with her would waver, weaken. The connection he fed on, using the rope of her calm, mortal mind to slowly rebind the fragments of his fractured, immortal thoughts.

  He focused on the sweet, patrician face of the female in front of him. It would be so much simpler if he could want her. But he did not, and he wasn’t a man who wasted time on impossibilities.

  Something in her serene expression alerted him. “Your brother won’t be pleased.”

  She glanced at him, then away again. “No.” She shrugged. “He is frequently displeased.”

  If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would have missed the nearly imperceptible tightening of her mouth, the way her eyes pinched, just a bit.

  “You are welcome to reside here as a guest,” he said, choosing his words carefully so she didn’t misunderstand. “Abella is learning service and will need someone more civil than I to hone her craft.”

  Young Aikalah frequently served in houses of leaders and artisans of higher status than that of their parents. They were taught to observe and to serve without subservience, eventually learning the ways of the powerful by working up the ranks of a household. So, despite what Abella might think, as his household manager, she was preparing for her eventual position at his side. She was barely more than a child, but not a child. So, she must be educated in how a Skyhall should be properly maintained. His insistence on her silent presence when he entertained his guests was more training. She would learn the political and social intricacies of the powerful. If she was intelligent, and he believed she was.

  “I thank you,” Seri said. “Will you explain my presence? I fear she will not understand why I remain.”

  Ishaiq understood what Seri was asking, and squashed his instinctive aggravation at the subtle invasion of his privacy. This female didn’t mean to pry—she had eyes and sense. There was no way she could have avoided observing where his interest lay. Not when he could barely keep his eyes, or his thoughts, away from the human woman.