His Rebellious Mate (Primarian Mates Book 3)

by Maddie Taylor

  “They had help.” Ram finger-combed his hair then tied it back. “She used the words ‘people,’ and ‘they.’ Both plural.”

  “Your mate said this?”

  His hands clenched. “Eryn told me. Whether she is my mate is up for debate, it seems.”

  Despite the situation he’d walked in on, Trask’s face remained a mask of calm—unlike Ram’s which had turned cold and hard.

  Once dressed, he faced his general. “When does our ship leave in pursuit?”

  “The minute we transport up. They’re waiting for us.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He exited the room, leaving Trask staring after him. The general didn’t follow, instead, crossed to the paper lying face down on the floor. He picked it up and flipped it over, his gaze skimming the page.

  “Faex!” he muttered. He also let it go and exited behind his Master Warrior, the news of her and Ram’s ill-fated match floating unheeded to the floor.

  Left alone, she crawled into his bed and lay where his body had been. She swept her hand over the mussed linens, no longer warm, yet still carrying his scent. Curled up in a ball, she hugged his pillow to her chest and breathed in Ram.

  Tears overflowed, and, once again, she wondered why.

  Why give her control if what she did had no effect? She’d discarded Lorkin’s sleeping potion into a bin out back last night. She still ended up reliving these same painful episodes where she made the same awful mistakes.

  It seemed useless—except to make her feel worse, filling her with more guilt and regret, and to see why Ram had every reason to distrust her.

  “It’s no wonder he hates me,” she whispered to the empty room. Burying her face in his pillow, she cried, hard, shuddering, hitching sobs that robbed her of breath.

  21

  Sometime later, her sobs had slowed to occasional hitching breaths.

  “Do something, dammit!” Ram’s demanding roar startled her.

  He sounded angry, more so than when she’d walked away and left him tied to the bed—which she didn’t think possible.

  She rolled to her back in the rumpled bed, drained and rather hazy.

  “I’m sorry, Ram. We’ve done everything.”

  “Do more,” he fired back.

  What was Juna doing with Ram in his bedroom? She sat up, prepared to tell them both to go away, she’d had enough.

  “There is nothing more we can do. I’m so sorry.” The bleak finality of Ellar’s statement settled like an oppressive weight on her chest. His treatment hadn’t worked. There was no hope.

  She looked around, discovering that the blackness had already surrounded her. In the void, there was comfort in the nothingness. She wouldn’t have to bear her guilt or Ram’s disappointment, his anger, and contempt. Or the unbearable loss when he left and took their child, the one part of him she had, with him. Nothing had changed, and this series of dreams served to remind her why it never would.

  Her chest ached from crying, the fatigue overwhelming. She was tired of fighting whatever held her in this relentless limbo. With nothing left to do, she wanted to sleep and forget.

  “Eryn, you can’t go.” Ram’s baritone rumbled close to her ear. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”

  Yes, that’s what she was afraid of.

  “You are a worthy opponent, little rebel. Who will I spar with if you go? Who will challenge my arrogance when no one else does? And who will curl up against me at night? Do you know how much I’ve missed having your soft curves pressed against me?”

  Wait. He misses me? If he hated her, how could this be?

  “And who will help me raise our daughter to be a strong, capable woman, not a man’s doormat as you call our Primarian women, although I still take exception to that. I want her to be like her mother, beautiful, confident, determined not to take any shit, as you say, from the mate who will eventually claim her one day.”

  Okay, now I know I’m hallucinating. Never in one hundred lifetimes could she imagine Ram bending enough to encourage a female’s independence. Except, perhaps, his own daughter.

  Maybe they did have more to discuss. To do so, she needed to find him. She rose from the bed, searching the darkness, twisting one way then another for a clue to the way out.

  “I can’t stand this constant limbo,” she muttered. “Stuck in the past, unable to move forward, fading in and out without rhyme or reason.” Then louder, “Please, let me out.”

  “Too late,” a voice answered, or was it two?

  “I want to help her, but have exhausted my skills.”

  Shaded with sorrow, the first belonged to Juna. The other sounded eerie and cold, sending a shiver down her spine. She spun again, squinting into the blackness surrounding her then stopped, closing her eyes.

  No, she didn’t want to know, thinking if she did, the words might come true.

  Pulling from her dwindling energy reserves, she began walking, doing so blindly, fear taking hold. What if there was no way out because she’d run out of time? She moved faster, eyes scanning the pitch-black, finding nothing.

  A sudden pain stabbed her side, and the air whooshed from her lungs. She struggled to catch her breath, but a steel band squeezed her chest. On a ragged wheeze, she stumbled, going down to her knees.

  “Ram, help me, please,” she called between short gasps. It may be hopeless, but she needed to try.

  As her weak cries tore from her raw burning throat, Ram’s strong arms encircled her, holding her close. In spite of her suffering, they brought a sliver of comfort. Then, a splash of something hot hit her cheek.

  Thin and watery, it rolled across her skin like a tear, though it wasn’t her own.

  “Please, little rebel,” came his husky whisper in her ear. “Don’t leave.”

  Disbelief, elation, hope… Bittersweet emotions crashed over her as another tear hit her check. Somehow, despite everything, he must have forgiven her. If this strong, fearless, warrior cried for her, it meant she had a hold on his heart. No matter how slight or tenuous, she could work with that.

  Summoning what strength she had left, she struggled to her feet and took a staggering step forward. Or she thought it was forward, finding it hard to tell in the sea of blackness. Believing this place a rest stop between the two worlds, she couldn’t recall ever being lucid while in the void. The sense of being lost and, at the same time, trapped filled her with confusion and fear.

  Perhaps, it really was too late.

  The sharp pain returned, so intense it doubled her over. The brief moment of hope and renewed determination faded.

  “Bring Cierra to me,” Ram’s broken voice ordered. “I want her to know her mother’s touch.”

  Cierra? Her heart ached, although in a good way.

  Since learning she was pregnant, she’d scribbled names in an old journal—trying them out. Every day she’d add to the running list, including Ram’s name in the baby boy column, regardless of her denials. After she found out for sure, she’d pared it down. For a girl, the short list had consisted of one name: Cierra.

  That he knew meant he’d been to her room, gone through her things, and found her journal. Had he read beyond the list of baby names? She’d never been one to keep a journal, but not long ago, because of her secret, she’d found it helpful to put her thoughts down on paper. Had Ram seen the pages in the back where she’d poured out her feelings, most often after dreaming of him? The notebook was filled with her regret, guilt, and more intimate thoughts. Was that why he was here with her now and had been every time she’d awakened?

  So many unanswered questions made her realize he’d been right all along. They did have unfinished business, and she wasn’t ready to give up without a fight. Not on her baby or on Ram or herself, and she hoped Juna and the voice in the darkness were wrong, that it wasn’t too late.

  She dug deep and scrambled to her feet, moving forward again, letting Ram’s words and the promise of Cierra spur her on. Ahead, a fissure of light glowed in the blackness, a
nd she veered toward it. As she ran, her lungs burned like fire. She coughed, struggling to keep going. Her hands flew to her throat and clawed at whatever seemed to be keeping her from drawing a breath.

  “Take it out, dammit,” Ram demanded. “Can’t you see she can’t breathe?”

  “It’s helping her do exactly that,” Juna replied.

  “You claim she is dying, so what the hell difference does it make? If she wants it gone, get rid of it.”

  A baby whimpered in the distance. Cierra.

  Gasping, choking, and bucking against the constricting machines and her frozen body, she struggled to get to her daughter, and Ram.

  “As you wish,” Juna conceded.

  A moment later, the tube slid from her throat. Her eyes flew wide, as though a spell had been broken. Then, she took what seemed like her first deep breath in days. Coughing, her throat raw and on fire, tears flowing down her face, she managed one weak raspy word. “Ram.”

  His face appeared above her, the image wavering and watery, yet she knew, after so many days of seeing her dream man, this one was the real thing.

  “Eryn… By the Maker,” he exclaimed, his voice rough. “I thought you were lost to us.”

  “Heard…you call…” she stammered, croaking like a frog with laryngitis. She forced out one more desperate word. “Cierra?”

  “Don’t talk. Our daughter is here—strong, healthy, and beautiful—and she wants to meet you.”

  Through a pool of tears, she watched Ram move away. When he came back into view, he held a bundle of pink in his arms. At the top of the swaddled blanket, a thick shock of glossy midnight hair peeked out. Eryn tried to say more, but sobbed instead.

  “Save your strength,” he commanded mildly. “And let me properly introduce you to Cierra Nicole.”

  He had read her journal.

  Not only had he given her the name she’d selected, but also her mother’s name. The invasion of her privacy should have upset her, but she couldn’t muster a hint of outrage, because, at that moment, he laid the small bundle on her chest. Like in her dream, his strong hands supported their baby girl where she couldn’t, and with her heart bursting with happiness, she gazed for the first time into her daughter’s face. With rosy-pink cheeks, a sweet little bowed mouth, and stunning green eyes, with tiny flecks of gold. She was perfect. Seeing her own mark upon her daughter moved her to tears. Other than that; Cierra looked exactly like her father, right down to the dimple in her baby-soft cheek.

  Her tired gaze connected with his as she lay weak and helpless, like an infant herself, against her pillow. He gave her a soft smile, his eyes gentle. A warm glow of happiness passed through her, something that had been absent for a very long time.

  “Ram…” Her strength gone, his name came out in a whisper.

  He shook his head. “Rest now. Cierra and I will be here waiting when you wake again.”

  With the light press of his lips on her forehead, offering sweet comfort, she gave in. Without visions, imaginings, or confusing skewed memories from the past, she welcomed the first dreamless sleep in what seemed like an eternity.

  22

  When Eryn opened her eyes upon waking, she knew right away things were different. Glancing around the room, she took it in for the first time. A standard hospital room, flat, dull paint, ugly furnishings, monitors everywhere, with an abundance of leads and tubes connected to her—which she found disturbing. The best thing she could say about her drab accommodations? They looked real.

  The clock on the wall said 1400 hours, although not much light shone in through the window. She rolled her head to the side. The simple voluntary movement, which had been beyond her ability for so long, made her want to leap from the bed and do a dance of joy, but she’d save it for when she grew stronger. Glancing at the window, she discovered plenty of sunshine outside, except the large-framed, extremely tall man blocked almost all of it.

  With his arms crossed over his chest, black hair pulled back in his usual style, the length past the middle of his back, he stood staring out the window, still as a statue. Although half in shadow, he looked as gorgeous as when he’d placed Cierra in her arms the first time Eryn had awoken. She’d been so weak, her muscles uncooperative. His arms had encircled hers, and they’d held their daughter together in a moment she’d never forget.

  And to think, she’d almost given up and missed it. She shuddered at the thought, at the same time, taking in a deep hitching breath.

  Ram must have heard the sound because he turned. “You’re awake.”

  “Yes,” she replied, her throat still dry and scratchy. She set her hand to her chest as she coughed.

  “Let me get you a drink. You’ve had a tube in to help you breathe for over a week. It’s expected you’re hoarse.” He moved to her bedside and picked up a cup with a straw. When she took a sip, she closed her eyes and let the soothing water ease her parched tongue and sore throat.

  “Thank you,” she managed more clearly when she’d had enough.

  Gazing up at him, weary to the bone and unsure how long she could stay awake, she caught his nod when he set the glass aside.

  “I’m so sorry, Ram. What I did…” Uncommon tears flooded her eyes. “It was unforgiveable. What I did haunts me, and I regret it every second of every day. Please, say you believe me.”

  “I do, Eryn,” he murmured. Sitting on the edge of her bed, his weight shifted the mattress, and she edged a little closer. “Mainly because when you didn’t have that damn tube down your throat, you shouted it in your sleep.”

  “I did?” Embarrassment replaced her surprise and she squinched her eyes shut tight. Her dreams had often been erotic; there’s no telling what had come out of her mouth. “God help me, what else did I say?”

  He chuckled. “Nothing too mortifying while the others were around.”

  She peeped one lid open at the low-rumbling sound then she stared with both wide upon seeing his broad grin. She stopped fretting over what she might have said and offered him a tentative smile. In response, he blinked, as if surprised. Then a soft glow lightened the striking gold of his gaze a split second before his eyes narrowed and his brows slammed together.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, his swift shift in mood puzzling her.

  He didn’t answer, instead focusing his attention out the window again.

  “Ram…”

  “It’s time for Cierra to wake from her nap.” His abrupt change worried her, but she welcomed the new topic. “Would you like to see her?”

  “Yes, please.” Even as she made her plea, her eyelids grew heavy. “But hurry, I’m starting to fade.”

  “She’s right next door with Maggie. Let me get her.”

  As he left, her heart fluttered with an excess of swirling emotions, nervous excitement over seeing her daughter for the first time while still coherent. Also, dread and confusion about what Ram’s sudden change in demeanor could mean.

  She didn’t have time to ponder it long because he came back with a fussy, squirming armful of baby. Eryn outstretched her hands eagerly.

  “My sweet baby,” she whispered as Ram laid her in her arms. Grinning broadly, she cuddled her close, unable to take her eyes off her scrunched-up red face. Eryn’s breasts began to ache. “She must be hungry.” Unsure how to go about feeding her own child, one hand rose tentatively to the buttons at the neckline of her gown.

  Ram rested his hand on hers, staying her next step. “Juna said you’re too weak to nurse her yet. Maybe in a few days.”

  “But how…?”

  “Maggie gave her a bottle just now. She’s got a healthy appetite and gets greedy, like someone is going to take it away. Put her up on your shoulder and pat her back.”

  “Oh.” Feeling she should have known that, Eryn did as he suggested, and with her unhappy daughter’s head next to hers, rubbed her back. She squirmed and mewed for several minutes, making her feel inept. About ready to ask Ram to intercede, her dainty daughter let out an inelegant burp then quieted.<
br />
  “See.” He chuckled again, reaching out to stroke Cierra’s dark head. “Just an uncomfortable air bubble.”

  Eryn dipped her face into her baby’s neck and exhaled shakily. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “You’ll catch on. Remember, I’ve had a two-week head start.”

  “She’s perfect, Ram, but she’s big.”

  “Not really. Only twelve of your Earth pounds.”

  Her head came up. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, but she was early.”

  She almost laughed, this coming from a giant. But she didn’t want to disturb her daughter who had drifted to sleep. She looked like an angel, her chubby cheek pillowed against her shoulder, Cierra’s small fist clasped around a few strands of Eryn’s red hair. Then Eryn’s gaze traveled over her daughter’s jet-black glossy locks to the long eyelashes resting against the olive skin—the same as her daddy’s. “She looks like a miniature of you.”

  “That’s what the others say, except… I see some of you in her, too.”

  At the odd catch in his voice, she glanced up, but his gaze had fixed on their daughter, beaming with love and pride. “Thank you.”

  His face remained soft, a small smile still curving his lips when he looked back to her. “I believe you stole my line, little one. It is also the chorus being sung in the streets of Ariad.”

  “What?”

  “Word has spread. The Prima has safely delivered the Princep’s son, which is big news, but they also rejoice over the birth of our daughter. The first in a generation. Sight unseen, she has given everyone on Primaria great hope.”

  “I’m happy for Eva and Kerr. Mother and baby are both fine?”

  “Yes, she had an easier go than you since hers was a natural birth, though the new Princep-to-be weighed in at something Kerr called ‘equivalent to a Thanksgiving Butterball’. I hoped you might translate that comment.”

  She laughed, though cut it short when a sharp pain shot through her belly.

  “Easy, now,” he urged. “You’ve had a rough time. I came close to losing you both.”