“What are you doing out here in the dark?”
She rolled her head to the side and looked at him. She hadn’t heard him come in. One drawback to modernization, the loss of a good, old-fashioned hinged door which closed with a solid thud or creaked in forewarning.
“It’s cool tonight, come inside.” He walked forward, coming to a stop beside her chair and gazed down at her. “Lana, did you hear me?”
He was so beautiful, and he made her feel beautiful, too, as well as cherished, and her body responded to him like no other man before. She was already in love with the big jerk who went around capturing free women.
He crouched, his hand sliding over her belly. “Paulova, what’s wrong?”
While she stared at him, concern in his enigmatic eyes, she thought back on the last few hours and how she’d sifted from one raw emotion to another—anger, guilt, disappointment—until they combined into a swirling stew of uncertainty. She had struggled to reconcile in her head what she felt for him and what he had done, but she couldn’t and realized the buckets of tears she’d shed were useless when it came to changing her situation. So where did it leave her, and them?
“Lana.” There was an edge of worry in his voice. “If you don’t respond I’m going to assume something is gravely wrong. If that’s not the case, you’re going to have one sorry bottom for scaring me this way.”
This prompted her to move but she only had enough energy to raise her hand to his bearded jaw. “I’m sorry. It’s been an exhausting day.”
“Was there a problem with your tests?”
“Jarlan cleared me to go home, so I’m sure they were fine.”
His hand curled around hers, and he pressed a kiss in her palm. “You heard the news, didn’t you?”
“You knew I’d find out. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I considered telling you but decided against it. If the mission wasn’t a success, I would have worried you for nothing.”
“You were afraid I’d freak out.”
“Lana, you were upset about eight, I could only imagine your reaction to our commandeering the ship and your entire crew.”
“Was anyone injured?”
“No, they are safe and well cared for and will continue to be.”
“It’s wrong, Trask. You know that, don’t you?”
He stared off into the shadows of the yard and sighed. “Wrong is letting your people fade into extinction.”
“Or leave them to die on a crumbling planet.”
His eyes cut to hers, but he said nothing.
“There must be a solution other than you win and we lose.”
“Is being with me losing?” he asked raggedly, his fingers tightening on hers enough to hurt, but she didn’t react other than to whisper, “the ‘you’ I meant was your people, and the ‘we’ humans as a whole.”
“Time was of the essence. We had to act, lest they get away. Now, with all of you here, and safe in our care, we can try to come up with a solution.”
“Really?”
“The decision weighed heavily on Kerr, myself, and the others, so yes, I think they will be amenable to discussing it, at least.” In the light of the rising moon, the largest of the three, his eyes met hers, and he stated earnestly, “It may not happen tomorrow, or in the next moon cycle, but you have my vow I will do what I can.”
She believed him and nodded.
“This is what your uncle was talking about when he mentioned the others. I thought he spoke of the other six, but he meant three hundred. Trask—”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if there were three thousand. You heard my answer. I already have a mate.”
He leaned forward, caught her lips in a gentle kiss. It was soft, lingering, and sweet, like her general could be when she had him all to herself.
“Did you eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
His brows snapped together at her answer. “You don’t eat enough. It’s late, so I’ll allow that excuse tonight, but starting in the morning, you are going to eat properly, and we’re going to put some meat on your bones.”
She smiled, the first one she could remember all day. “Parts of me have plenty of meat, Trask. Back home they would say I have a bubble butt.”
“Not within my hearing they wouldn’t.”
In spite of herself, she chuckled. “Some consider it a compliment, if you like round and on the voluptuous side, which is what it means.”
“I do.” He nuzzled his face in her neck, and his breath was warm and teasing when he said, “I must have missed this particular feature in my previous assessments; I’ll have to correct that tonight.”
A giggle rose from her throat when he found the sensitive bend of her shoulder, opened his mouth, and lapped at her skin. Tipping her head to the side, she offered him more, while she slid her arms up his back and into his hair. Thwarted by the tie holding it back, she pulled it free then combed through the length with her fingers. “It’s damp,” she noted in a whisper.
“We trained twelve hours today. I bathed before coming to you. If you had seen or smelled me, before I did, you’d be thanking me for the consideration right about now.”
She brushed his hair behind his ear and boldly whispered her suggestion. “How about I thank you properly, in bed?”
“Mate, you read my mind.” He slid his arms beneath her and stood with her cradled against his chest. She glimpsed the spark of passion in his eyes, a moment before he dipped his head and claimed her mouth. Somehow, he managed to get them up to bed without once breaking free of her lips.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Lana had barely opened her eyes before a nagging pain in her temples began to throb. She moaned and rolled to her side, pulling the pillow over her head, blocking out the sunlight streaming in through the window. It was a migraine. She hadn’t had one in years, not since she was a teenager, and not nearly long enough to have forgotten the pain.
“Breakfast is ready,” Trask said from somewhere nearby.
The thought of food and the faint smell wafting up the stairs from the kitchen made her stomach roll. She moaned louder, this time not holding back because for some reason it helped with the misery.
“Lana, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. His weight shifted the mattress and made both the pain and nausea worse.
“A headache. Please,” she groaned between panting breaths, “don’t move so much, you’re jostling the bed, and me.”
His hand stroking up her arm only added to the discomfort.
“No, don’t touch me.”
“If I can’t touch you, mate. How can I soothe you?”
“I need to lay perfectly still, in a dark room, no noise. If I can fall back to sleep, when I wake, it will be gone.”
The bed shifted again, and she breathed deep trying to keep her stomach under control. She heard him moving around the room.
“The windows are closed, and I’ve adjusted the cooling system. What else can I do to bring you ease?”
“Nothing. I’ll sleep and feel better.”
“I do not like this,” he grumbled.
“Believe me, I don’t care for it much myself.”
“I’m calling Jarlan.”
The physic again—great.
She heard a rustle of cloth and felt the tug on her pillow. She released it rather than endure the pain of a protest. His lips touched her forehead, though so soft it didn’t cause her distress.
“I cannot bear to see you suffer, paulova. I will be downstairs waiting for Jarlan to arrive.”
“Go to work, Trask. I’ve learned it has to run its course.”
His growled, “Unacceptable,” followed him from the room.
The physic made his appearance in remarkably short order. His quick response had to mean he dropped everything at Trask’s summons, which came as a surprise, the fact he made a house call at all was another. He examined her, running a handheld device over her body, agreed with Lana’s self-diagnosis of a headache, an
d gave Trask some medication to give her for the pain.
“It may have a sedating effect. Start at a half dose and if she tolerates it, you may increase to a full tablet, thereafter. Give one at the first sign of a headache. If it persists or worsens, I’ll need to see her immediately.”
“I haven’t had one for over ten years. Back then they occurred once or twice a year and I could always sleep them off,” Lana explained, cutting into the conversation going on at the foot of the bed. Though it was about her, they didn’t include her, making her feel like a child.
Trask’s concerned gaze landed on her. “Is your pain gone?”
“No, it’s like there is an ice pick lodged behind my eyes.”
“Then hush, mate. I’ll handle this while you rest and let the medicine work to make you better.”
Though bossy and high-handed, how did she argue with that logic? She lay back, rolled on her side, and once again pulled a pillow over her head to help block out the light and the low hum of their voices.
WHEN SHE WOKE NEXT, the room was black as pitch. Lana rolled onto her back. She didn’t move any further, waiting for the rush of pain. When it didn’t come, she blew out the breath she’d been holding. Her stomach rumbled noisily, which was another positive sign her migraine was done with her, at least for now.
Moving cautiously, in case the pain was lurking below the radar, ready to return with the least provocation, she eased her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Still nothing.
On bare feet, she padded out of their room, and went downstairs. The house was dark, except for the autolights set on dim in the hall. She didn’t see or hear Trask anywhere. She’d already turned to go check the rooms up front when she heard the low hum of someone talking. Crossing to the glass patio doors, she looked out and saw Trask’s long legs and booted feet stretched out on a lounger. Not willing to revisit the trouble she’d bought into the last time she found him talking to someone outside, she pushed the door wide and peeked her head out. Trask’s head, pillowed on a raised, bent arm behind him, turned her way.
“Lana is awake. I must check on her.” He was standing in front of her before she could blink, it seemed. “Paulova, what are you doing out of bed?”
“I woke up, and I’m hungry.”
His tight expression relaxed. A gentle hand on her hip moved her aside for him to enter, the other shut the door behind him. “Little wonder, you didn’t eat last night and it’s well past the dinner hour now.”
She looked behind him. No one had followed him to the door or crossed to the rear gate.
“Were you talking to someone?”
He moved a hand under his hair, loose around his shoulders since he was home, the way she liked it best, and took something from his ear. He held out his palm and showed her a small, black earbud.
“It’s a mobile transmitter. You don’t have such a thing in your world?”
“We do. They are called phones, but ours are handheld devices which are mini computers and our earpieces are larger.”
“We can access a tablet or the planetary data bank through this as well. I need to have one programmed for you, so you’ll have a way of contacting me.” He curled his fingers around the tiny device and ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “The burn from the suns is gone but has left you pale.”
“That is normal following a migraine for me. It’s like I’m hungover for a few days after.” She noticed his frown. “A hangover is when you drink too much alcohol and pay for it the next day.”
“I understand the term. I’m concerned about my mate, however.”
“That’s sweet, Trask, but I’ll be all right.”
His free hand slid over her hip to the small of her back and drew her near. “I’m counting on that, Lana,” he said softly. “I’d become sick if anything happened to you.”
“Oh, but I thought only fated mates got separation sickness.”
“Sick at heart, paulova. Though bonded mates can experience symptoms from separation, too. The stronger the bond, the worse the severity.”
“Then you’d be all right.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Are you planning on going somewhere, mate?”
“Oh, no, I meant, since we’re not...” Noting his tight expression had reappeared, she thought it best not to go down this path. “I’m only trying to learn all the ins and outs of this mating stuff.”
“This mating stuff, as you call it, includes a male taking care of his female, which means I need to get you fed.” With a quick, light kiss to her forehead, he led her to the ledge surrounding the food prep counter and pulled out a high-backed stool. It was tall, sized for his long legs, and she eyed it trying to figure out the best way to mount it since it didn’t have a rung to use as a step.
He picked her up by the waist and saved her the trouble. “There you go, short stuff. Sit here and be amazed while I create culinary magic.”
She shook her head and laughed. “Too late, big guy. You showed me all about your food prep unit, remember? If you want to keep me dazzled, you’ll have to remember a magician never reveals his secrets or he destroys the illusion.”
He looked up from the program pad and grinned.
“What?” she asked.
“You used an endearment for the first time. I like it.”
She thought a moment. “Big guy? Wouldn’t you rather be something sweet like honey, sugar, or snookums?”
“What is a snookums?” He made a face as though the word left a sour taste on his tongue. “Sounds like something slimy that slithers in the Ventorcopian forest where I found you.”
She grimaced. “Don’t remind me. That place was full of squishy disgusting-ness. And snookums isn’t anything other than a cute made-up pet name.”
“And honey?”
“It comes from bees.”
“As you’ve told me before, that doesn’t help me, mate.”
“You mean you don’t have bees?” She mimicked wiping the sweat from her brow. “That’s a relief. I’m allergic.”
He stopped in the middle of keying something into the program pad to stare at her blankly.
“Bees are insects. And they have nasty stingers which hurt. They also release a chemical when they sting which makes my skin red, and my throat swells up making it hard to breathe, so no bees,”—she made a hash mark in the air—“score one for Primaria.”
“Only one?” he asked, with raised brows.
“Okay, maybe one for the lack of bees and another for the super sweet guy who’s always looking out for me.”
“Much better.”
“I’m serious. Thank you, Trask.”
“You’re my mate, Lana. It’s my duty to take care of you.”
She deflated, although she tried to hide it. In the middle of their easy, playful banter, he had to go and spoil it by reminding her she was an obligation.
Her appetite vanished and she didn’t see it returning anytime soon when he brought over two steaming plates piled high with blobs of bright blue, slabs of green, and some pink leaves with chopped-up bits of purple, white, and yellow which looked like a psychedelic salad. The whole plate looked like something her brain would conjure up during a hallucinogenic acid trip.
Taking a seat across from her, he urged, “Eat up. You must be starved.”
“Um, big guy?”
“Yeah, short stuff?”
She arched a brow at him. “Since we’re choosing our own pet names, I’ll stick with paulova, thanks.”
He grinned. “You had a question?”
She noticed he didn’t agree to forego the new nickname. Whatever. She looked back at her plate. “What is it?”
“Roast boar, mashed blue root, and because I know you like fresh vegetables”—he tipped his head toward the back door beyond which lay her garden—“a salad.”
Assuming boar was like pork, she passed and went to work on the salad. She found it crisp with a light drizzle of tangy dressing, and the blue root tasted exactly like fluff
y mashed potatoes.
He waved his two-pronged fork at her plate and ordered, “Eat a minimum of four bites of the boar, you need the protein.”
“I’m not much of a meat eater.”
“It’s good for you. Try it.”
She sawed off a tiny little piece and tentatively nibbled at it.
With a grunt of impatience, he pulled her plate in front of him and used his utensils to cut four generous pieces. He transferred the rest to his nearly empty plate before returning hers.
Frowning at it, she complained, “You said I only had to eat four, this makes five.”
“Your bite was barely a crumb and doesn’t count. Eat the rest, and you can have dessert.”
“Yes, Dad,” she muttered while chewing one of the Trask-sized pieces finding it savory and tender. She’d take it to the grave before admitting it, however.
He caught her chin in his hand, taking her by surprise. “I am your mate, Lana, not your father. And that sarcastic tone that slips out on occasion needs to be put away and never used with me again. Understand?”
She swallowed with an audible gulp then croaked, “Yes.”
He nodded and slid a cup in front of her. “Drink your milk, too. It also has protein and other nutrients that are good for you.”
Her dad comment was a wiseass remark, but right on point. He evidently had no idea how dad-like he sounded. Rather than continue to be petulant and end up riling the man with the large hard palm who wasn’t afraid to use it, she took a drink of milk. It was white, thankfully, and tasted exactly like she expected it to.
While she ate, she watched him do the same, his lips gleaming with a trace of meat juice, his strong jaw working as he chewed, and the muscles of his neck dancing when he swallowed. She marveled how this sometimes sweet, often stern, yet always sexy, and persistently dominant alien could so easily get her desires stirring.
Before she knew it, she was done, and Trask set a slice of fruit pie in front of her. It only had a bottom crust and was filled with slices of orange fruit in a thick syrupy glaze. On top sat a dollop of white fluffy stuff which, if she were at home, she would have bet was Cool Whip.
Defying the General Page 14
