Warrior's Mate (Yadeshi Brides Book 3)

by Emma Alisyn

  “But what if she changes her mind?” Did no one understand? Was no one thinking? “She’s doing everything, going everywhere. She has no time for me and she barely even comes to my bed anymore. What if she decides she doesn’t want to be my wife?”

  Ythana laughed. Ithann inhaled, struggling to restrain a few choice words behind his teeth. His mother. He couldn’t disrespect his mother.

  “Males are so sensitive—and insecure. It would be adorable, but in a grown warrior, it’s just annoying.” She sighed. “Ithann, Gayle is a very young woman, recently released from her fetters. She’s exploring a new environment with all the pleasure and wide-eyed innocence of a… kitten. That’s right, yes? Kitten? She hasn’t forgotten you; you are simply not the center of her universe. And you should not be.” Ythana’s look was frank. “You’re young, so you think you want a woman slavishly devoted to you, but trust me. The novelty would wear off and you would be seeking every opportunity to flee her. The more she has to do, the less work you have to keep her happy.”

  He wasn’t stupid. He’d considered all of that. But Jaron’s female had bonded to him in a matter of weeks. “Why won’t she bond?”

  “It takes time, son. Sometimes a great deal of time. Does she feel that you love her? Does she feel utterly confident in your support, your fidelity? Where is she now?”

  He remained silent. Ythana rose. “Exactly. Go get your female, Ithann.”

  Damnit. “I don’t really know where she is. I was angry and pulled her guard detail.”

  “You… you…” She stared at him for one long second then turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly.

  Ithann winced. She might as well have slammed it.

  She was determined to put him out of her mind. Time, if nothing else, would heal the gaping absence of the man she’d become so used to, so quickly.

  Ravetha’s flat was situated in a district catering to singles and young couples. Gayle enjoyed the lifestyle, the convenience of stepping right outside and walking a few blocks to an urban hydro garden to choose fruits and vegetables directly from their tanks and squares of soil. Most of the housing in this section consisted of one and two-bedroom units on top of storefronts. Restaurants, salons, tea, and coffee shops—they had a different word for their steamy, eye-jolting morning beverage, but Gayle called it coffee—and mini theaters and lounges offering both day and evening entertainment. The district never really went to sleep, but because of ordinances, there was little to no vehicle traffic. Only delivery vendors could drive down the narrow streets in company transports.

  By this time of morning, the first of the workday rush had ended. Normally, she was out first thing with everyone else, embroiled in the bustle of beginning the day, but she’d gotten a late start.

  Which was probably why her shoulders began twitching before she’d gone even a block. She knew it wasn’t Ithann’s guards—it wasn’t that kind of tingle, and they had a certain formation. But she knew she was being watched, followed.

  Her mind examined and discarded several possibilities. A secret admirer too shy to approach the human woman? A vid blogger wanting the scoop on her breakup—or out of the loop that she and Ithann had broken up?

  That it could be an enemy of Ithann’s was also considered and discarded. She was of no consequence, and clearly her would-be husband didn’t value her since he’d pulled the guards and not communicated with her. She hadn’t heard he was dead—he knew where she worked. So, there was no reason for her to be a target of the Platon or anyone else.

  Gayle shifted the basket on her right arm to her left, casual, and continued her pace, stopping occasionally to look at displays in windows. Subtly slowing in the hope the stalker would come closer. A casual glance around revealed a few people across the street walking the opposite direction. No one behind her. Not a jostle from the corner of her eye. Which only meant the person was good.

  She continued to the urban garden, chose her produce in the exact manner she normally would, and left. But this time, she broke routine and changed her home route. This would either spook the tail, or spur him into making a move.

  Gayle turned down a narrow side street between buildings (an alley, but the Yadeshi had actual names for theirs, and kept them clean) and slowed her pace. The other side of the alley was a quieter block and lined one of the many forested walking trails in the city. Evidently, they didn’t worry about muggers much, as there was plenty of man-height foliage on the paths, and low benches set away from foot traffic for people to sit and have a moment’s quiet.

  A whisper of movement alerted her, barely a split second of warning. Instead of dropping her groceries, she whirled, aiming the produce-laden basket at the height where a head should be even as she swept her leg out in a kick.

  She recognized the leanly muscled arms, the nearly human undertones to the blue-tinged skin and knew a moment of true fear. There was no Ithann to send guards to back her up.

  And the assailant wasn’t playing with her this time. She defended herself for two minutes, counting the ticking seconds grimly by the number of Forms he countered. She should have paid more attention to Ithann’s training. She was good for her experience level, but not good enough to save her own life against a warrior who’d trained his entire life.

  Not good enough to save her own life.

  A series of blows and Gayle was bent over, unable to breathe. He made short work of disabling her, wrenching arms behind her back to secure her wrists. When her breath returned, she opened her mouth to scream.

  “None of that,” he said in a low whisper, “or I’ll use the needle on you. My apologies.”

  An assassin who apologized? But if he was a professional, it wasn’t personal. She wheezed then managed to speak.

  “Who hired you?”

  “My apologies. I cannot disclose that information. Walk. No noise, please.”

  He hauled her to her feet and nudged her into the heavy brush. She walked for a few steps and then shifted. He countered the beginning of her move again.

  “I understand you feel you must try to escape,” he said in her ear, his voice no longer quite as pleasant, “but out of respect for your station, I am attempting to extend you some courtesy. Do not abuse my good nature.”

  She heard the warning loud and clear. He could nip any move she had in the bud, but he was allowing her to move under her own power, remain conscience as a courtesy.

  “I’ve always been taught to never let a kidnapper take you from the scene of the crime or you’re dead,” she said, keeping her voice quiet to not piss him off.

  He chuckled. “Good advice. But this scenario is a bit different. My apologies, Bdakhun—”

  The assassin shoved her to the side and whirled. Gayle rolled several times to make sure she wasn’t underfoot of the sudden fight and lurched to her feet.

  “Ithann!”

  A hand grabbed her upper arm, yanking her back. “This way, Bdakhun. I’m required to see you to safety.”

  “Let go of me!” How dare they? “Were you guys shadowing me the whole time? I thought you were all gone.”

  Her guard said nothing, just continued to herd her. “If you don’t stop, we’re going to fight,” she said in a low, vicious tone. “I want to see the fight.”

  He halted, and Gayle realized her wrists were free. She turned back to watch Ithann and the assailant. They moved almost too fast for her human sight, feet silent but kicking up dirt and trampling plants. She glimpsed three more guards, not interfering.

  Ithann executed a blow and the assassin went down. Ithann moved as if to rip the hood from the man’s face when he threw up an arm, speaking rapidly. Ithann paused, completely still, then nodded and made a gesture. Stepping back, he allowed one of his warriors to secure the assassin, and glanced towards Gayle.

  After a brief, searing look, he walked towards her. Anger, hurt, disbelief rose in her throat. Leave her alone all this time, not even an email, and suddenly he wanted to act all alpha and concerned.
r />   She turned and ran. She didn’t want to see him, talk to him. She didn’t want anything to do with him.

  18

  It was so cliché. The panicked woman, the warrior chasing her down. Any second, he would throw her to the ground, his warriors would melt away into the man-made forest and they would make passionate love in the dirt. She and Ithann, not the warriors.

  Invisible bands of energy wrapped around her waist and yanked her into the air. She shrieked, feet kicking, and then her legs were restrained as well.

  “I’m tempted to turn you upside down,” Ithann said, his voice sharp, moving into her line of vision. “But I suppose this is my fault. Will you stand still?”

  “I’m in the air!” she shrieked.

  He crossed his arms, the device in his hand dangling from his fingers. She eyed it, vowing to crush it under her heels at the first possible opportunity.

  “You’re in the air because you were running and I don’t feel like chasing you.”

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be on his knees, begging forgiveness for ignoring her for several weeks. Not threatening to turn her upside down as if this situation was her fault.

  “I’d be happy to stand still,” she said.

  He eyed her for another moment and then her feet touched dirt again. Gayle swung at him.

  He caught her hand, sighing. “You’re so predictable, Abigail. If your enemies can anticipate your moves, they can counter them.”

  And then he did surprise her, dropping her hand and lowering himself, giving her the same forehead to ground salute he’d given his mother.

  “Get up,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “Asking for your forgiveness.”

  The words were as stony as his face, but he said them. And his jaw wasn’t grinding, so maybe he meant them.

  But she wanted to rub it in. “For what?”

  “For not seeing the issues from your point of view. For… impatience and then behaving like a spoiled child when you tried to assert your right to make a very important decision about your future and body.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did your mother write that apology?” The words sounded just like how Ythana would speak.

  He rolled his eyes. “No, my mother didn’t write the apology. I have lived with her for decades, however, and I know how she talks. So, I may, on occasion, be able to channel her speech patterns…”

  “So, it’s really your mother apologizing, and not you.”

  “Excuse me, Gayle, for not wanting to give you up. Excuse me for wanting to bind you to me the only way I know how.” His eyes hardened, even as they burned with a white-hot fire. “So sorry for wanting to see my child in your arms. For wanting you to accept my bond.”

  She licked her lips. The rough passion in his voice, the thread of frustrated hurt… affected her. She couldn’t stay mad at him, not when reluctantly, she could begin to see his point of view. “I don’t know why I haven’t accepted the bond. I just…”

  “It’s my fault.” He stepped forward, looking down at her as he slid arms—cautiously at first—around her waist. “I haven’t made you feel secure. Or loved. I… thought offering to bond you was enough.”

  “You’re a little spoiled.”

  His brow rose. “I’m spoiled, Daddy’s little princess?” He said the last three words in English, emphasizing his point.

  Gayle grimaced. “All right, all right. I may accept your apology.” She paused, uncertain. “Where do we go from here?”

  “I want to court you. Properly.”

  “I think I’d like that.”

  Ithann’s kiss was warm, sweet. An apology and a promise. “Let me make it up to you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  His hands roved over her back, squeezing her buttocks, pulling her hard against his chest. His cock flexed against her stomach.

  She swallowed. “What did you have in mind?”

  The answer was to walk her backwards even deeper into the thick, willowy wild flowers and reeds. And then he went all e-book hero on her, tumbling her onto the ground. He shifted, sliding a hand into his pocket and they both flickered out of view.

  Gayle shrieked. Mila had told her about these devices.

  “Be quiet, female. It’s a deflection shield. And it’s on a thirty-minute timer before the battery needs to be recharged.”

  Air on her legs, suddenly, as her long skirt was pulled up. Her thighs spread and his mouth on her bud. Tongue flicking up and down, a rhythm that had her body writhing.

  “This is torture,” she said, her hands buried in his hair. “Not an apology.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  His fingers slipped inside her, two and then three, stretching her channel and pumping in and out, knowing exactly where deep inside her spot was best found. She grabbed his wrist with one hand and flung it away from her even as she cupped his hard length with her other hand. She didn’t want fingers. She wanted cock.

  “It’s been over two weeks,” she said. “What the fuck do you think I want?”

  His mouth was on her neck, laughter rippling through his chest. And then the wide, hot length of him pushed inside her. Stretching, burning as her body adjusted to his girth, sheathing himself to the hilt before he pulled out and sank back in. Gayle wrapped her legs around his waist, hips rising to meet each of his thrusts. It was short, furious. Neither of them had the stamina to last long. He held out just long enough to bring her to her climax, then poured hot seed inside her, a growl of pleasure in her ear.

  “Fuck,” he swore. “I didn’t mean to do this.”

  She stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He muttered under his breath. “I’m supposed to be wooing you, not fucking you. I was going to ask you to go to a concert.”

  Gayle blinked. “A concert? Like a date.”

  “Yes, Abigail. A date.”

  She felt his glare. “Okay. Just tell me when.”

  Gayle dabbed a deep pink stain on her lips and eyed her cheekbones, taking another moment to debate the merits of gold glitter dust versus pearlescent glitter dust. Just a subtle sweep, highlight the cheekbones. The pearl—she wasn’t going to a rave.

  A corner of the mirror lit up and a tiny face snapped into place in a palm-sized square reserved for communication.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “You’re going out tonight.”

  Gayle was surprised, and not surprised. Miranda had said she’d be monitoring things on her end, but Gayle hadn’t quite expected that to mean her dating life.

  “Yes, Ithann is taking me to an opera. They don’t call it that—but that’s what it is. Singing a giant cast, supposedly an entertainment for the cultured members of society.” She rolled her eyes. Having been born and raised rich, privileged, and ‘cultured,’ she supposed she had the luxury to sneer at it—familiarity and contempt and all that. “I hope there is plenty of wine.”

  She had to give him credit for trying. Most men would think a woman would appreciate a night at the opera—Gayle would rather have gone to a bar for whatever passed for a burger and loud, raucous music. But baby steps. She’d have him trained soon, barring any major screw-ups on his part.

  “Abigail, listen to me. Your father isn’t in control of the factor he hired to retrieve you.”

  Gayle snorted. “Ithann nabbed him the last time he tried to kidnap me.”

  “No, Gayle, there is a backup plan in place and you need to be careful.” Miranda’s lips thinned. Her mother’s normally smooth, deep brown skin looked dry, a sure sign of stress. Gayle put down her makeup brush and focused. “Your father is dealing with some people who have their own agendas and your… husband… comes from a highly politicized family. Bakari isn’t in control of the situation.”

  “Should I not go?” She’d have to tell Ithann, in case it was information he didn’t have.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know the details of the plans—I can’t get into the computer system for more than a
few seconds at a time without alerting the security in place.”

  That her mother could hack at all was an unpleasant, if interesting, surprise. But then the wife of a high-ranking politician should know some shady things.

  “Fine, I’ll tell Ithann we need to be careful.”

  Miranda nodded. “Stay in touch, Gayle. I need to know you’re well.”

  She told Ithann about the conversation as soon as he arrived at Ravetha’s to pick her up. She’d originally arranged to meet him but called as soon as she disconnected from her mother and changed the plans. He’d been surprised, and curious, but nodded in agreement.

  Ithann stilled, listening to her hurried, worried, explanation. “We’re on alert,” he said, “but it confirms intelligence my people have gathered.” His face soothed into its hard, ice chip expression. “You’ll be safe.”

  She nodded, and let him escort her into a transport. When they lifted, several others rose in the air with him, flanking them in front and behind. A cavalcade. Each conveyance looked exactly alike, windows tinted to black.

  They arrived at the music house, Gayle surprised to see it was an outdoor stadium with a transparent dome, rows of cushioned benches rising above the center stage. The highest level of seats were an enclosed clubhouse-style observation deck with its own bar and restaurant, where individuals could sip drinks or eat small finger foods and watch the entertainment on screens.

  “Our family has a section reserved for us,” Ithann said when they arrived.

  That information pinged her unease. “Do you use it often? Shouldn’t we…”

  He nodded. “We’ll join the general audience tonight. If you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” He might think she thought of it as slumming, but sitting amidst the regular population pleased her. She’d spent her entire life shut away—she wanted to jump into the thick of things, so to speak.

  Ithann led her to a row of seats. The cushions were a plush sapphire blue, matching the brilliant colors painting the sky as the sun set and the twin moons rose. She stared up for several moments, the flicker of dozens of stars mesmerizing. And even though they were enclosed in a dome, climate control had it set so a subtle, fragrant breeze wafted through the patrons, the scent of native flowers and dim music of the singing, winged butterflies that came out only at night.