Warrior's Mate (Yadeshi Brides Book 3)

by Emma Alisyn

  It’s fine. Just don’t panic.

  Any thought of staying calm evaporated as the winged man walked toward her. Abella ran through her options. She could jump into the water, but even if she managed to outswim the intake workers, she didn’t have anywhere to go on the planet. Running past the intact booth posed the same problem. Where would she go?

  “Employee 564327?” the man asked as he stopped in front of her.

  Abella swallowed a lump in her throat. The HR liaison at the employment agency told her to memorize her employment number—it was the only thing standing between her and being summarily booted as an undocumented off-worlder. The Aikalah tended to boot and refuse to ask questions later. The HR primer made at least ten references to the importance of remembering the number, but with the towering angel—wait, no, don’t call them angels; they hated being called angels—standing in front of her, Abella’s mind went blank.

  “I… yes?”

  The man rolled his eyes and glanced back down at his electronic pad. “Abella Michaels?” Off her nod, the man pulled a device the size of an inner ear out of the side of the pad and passed it to her. “The agency would like to have a word with you.”

  Taking the device, and a deep breath for good measure, she slipped it into her ear. “This is Abella. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Who are you—have you abandoned all your faculties?” Cheryl demanded, too well bred to screech. But Abella heard the higher-than-normal octave. “Where are you?”

  Busted. She cleared her throat, and picked her way through a white lie. “I’ve decided to do some traveling. You always said every well-rounded lady should take a tour—”

  “Not of the galaxy, Abella!” Her sister took a deep breath, then injected her voice with the false syrup of a practiced politician’s wife. “Of Europe. And you’re about ten years too late for a tour, darling. I’m making arrangements for you to return right away.”

  “But—”

  Cheryl’s voice hardened. “We have far too many things to do to close out the estate, Abella. Now is not a good time. Stay near the transport. I’ll have the Authority escort you back on your ship.”

  Abella winced from the confirmation that her older sister knew exactly where she was. She’d always known Cheryl would find out, but Abella had hoped her brother-in-law’s campaign would keep his wife busy for at least a few weeks. It had certainly kept her too busy to make more than the occasional obligatory trip home to see their parents in their final years.

  “Just send me whatever documents you and the lawyer want me to sign for the estate,” Abella said, moving forward with the line of employees. “I don’t need to be there for it.”

  “It’s not that simple, Ella,” Cheryl snapped. “There are decisions that have to be made. I can’t believe you would do something so irresponsible.”

  The subtle feeling of guilt that Abella felt faded, replaced with growing anger.

  “Irresponsible? While you and Grant were busy playing a devoted family for the polls, I cared for our actual family.”

  Something in the background shattered—there mustn’t have been any staffers or press around. Cheryl never showed negative emotions when it might make her look like anything but the perfect, composed, High Tier wife.

  “I’m afraid you don’t fully understand the situation,” Cheryl said, voice tight. “If you don’t return, I will instruct our lawyers to proceed against your inheritance in the courts.” She paused. “It’s not that long a trip to Ablaut in the Nova class space cruiser.”

  The threat came through, loud and clear. Unfortunately for Cheryl, Abella knew it was an empty threat. If she lived, she was entitled to her inheritance, no matter where in the universe she lived.

  “Do whatever you feel you must,” she said, voice cool despite a clenched fist. “And when you’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not an underling for you to control, we’ll talk. Maybe.”

  Abella pulled out the ear piece and passed it to the red-winged man, who’d kept pace with surprising patience. She would have liked to break it, but the agency and the Aikalah wouldn’t look kindly on it. And she appreciated this official’s courtesy.

  Her nerves faded, replaced by a fierce determination. There was more than greed behind Cheryl’s insistence that she go back home; there was certainty. Certainty that Abella, having spent her life caring for others, couldn’t handle herself in the vast galaxy. Certainty that she had no purpose if nobody needed her.

  Abella exhaled as she approached the intake booth and gave the clerk her name and ID number. Her remaining family were irrelevant now. Cheryl, Grant, everyone who questioned her right to live her life on her own terms.

  None of them mattered anymore.

  Lord, please wake. You are needed.

  He must be, for his Vicelord to intrude on his Sleep. Ishaiq stirred, the cool blanket of the sea parting around him. He floated, suspended in a magical bubble deep in the black waters, his resting place hidden, undisturbed except by fish.

  They scuttled when he opened his eyes, the sudden beam of light disturbing their peace.

  He closed his eyes immediately, murmuring a silent apology. They’d done nothing wrong.

  His mind fought through the lethargy weighing him down. Luqmun wouldn’t call unless it was important.

  Why do you disturb my rest? He asked his right wing.

  Lord, forgive me. The Conclave has ordered every unmated Archan to take a concubine. They require proof of compliance or lands and tributes are forfeit. Sleep is not an excuse for non-compliance. As long as you comply, they will not interfere with you.

  He heard the words, but they made no sense. Because he was still enmired in Sleep, anger was slow to rise. Why?

  They fear our power is waning. They want winglings.

  Their people always wanted winglings. That wasn’t new. A long-lived race, they weren’t nearly as fertile as the off-worlders, they didn’t need to be. But they were in no population crisis.

  They fear the power of the aliens. Their technology.

  Though Luqmun would refuse to acknowledge it, the thought would affront him as well. But silence was also assent.

  When?

  You have three weeks, Lord. Forgive me. I waited as long as I dared.

  I am coming. It may take… time.

  I will hold what is yours until you rise.

  Of course, he would. Ishaiq, Archan of the only Skyhall to make its home over the sea, trusted his Vicelord implicitly. He would accept nothing less than complete loyalty.

  Disloyalty was always punished with death.

  Luqmun gave him something precious. Purpose.

  The years were grey and weighed on his shoulders. His people, the mortals who made their home on the tiny island off the main coast, were born and then died, nestled under the shadow of his Skyhall. Caring for them took time, and attention. Though brief, their quality of life still mattered. They were his children—a trust.

  But he had no children of his own, and it had been long since he’d loved a female. Never a mate, a pasanzi, but a partner who he enjoyed for a time before the ebbs of life took her away. Either due to mortality because in the end, he didn’t love her enough to extend her life beyond what was natural, or simply, the emotional distancing that happened between Aikalaan. Without his protest, because by then, they’d tired of each other.

  Ishaiq began his ascent, fighting against the darkness of his mind and the darkness of the ocean that did not wish to relinquish him. The bubble insulated him from the crushing weight of the waters, and the cold. His power insulated him from the madness of absolute silence.

  The Conclave dared mandate he choose a mate and breed heirs? Dared threaten his domicile should he not comply? Evidently, while he was away from the world, the flight feathers of the remaining Archans had molted to accept such an edict. That alone worried him. What had changed to give the Conclave the power to make demands, instead of carefully worded requests?

  With each meter gained, cons
ciousness and energy returned. He surged to the surface, gathering the tattered remnants of control to order the waves. Gathered the sluggish remnants of his mind and forced himself awake.

  The time for napping was over.

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  Did you miss Yadeshi Brides #1?

  Curvy single mom in trouble + elite alien warrior = a chance at the forever kind of love.

  Three strikes and he's out. Zoriah's rebellious teenage son is in trouble again- this time, on purpose. She'll do anything to prevent her family breaking up, even allow her children to train for the alien Yadeshi army.

  Why raise your sword if you have no mate or family? Elite alien warrior Benyon spends his time on Earth training humans in martial arts. He's come to love the three human children with warrior-spirits, and will do anything to prevent their unhappiness- even if it means going toe-to-toe with their mother- a woman who entices him with her fierce temper, lush beauty and strength of will to raise her children alone.

  But she doesn't have to be alone- he won't allow it, not when he's made up his mind she should be his. All he has to do is convince her that alien warriors do it bigger, harder and badder. And when their family is threatened by a spurned would-be lover, Benyon seizes the opportunity to prove his worth. After all, there's more to him than just his big, blue... tattoo.

  This is a steamy hot, science fiction romance for readers who love BBW and alpha male alien warriors. Perfect for your lunch break read.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I’m afraid I must refer him to Social Intervention,” the school counselor said.

  Zoriah stared at Ms. Beckett, employing the only useful technique she’d learned during her teenage years from the government parenting programs.

  One breath, two. Three breaths, four. Think before you speak. Acts of aggression equaled weeks of remediation- more time under the watchful eye of an overburdened case worker. More opportunities for them to tear her family apart like children pulling wings from a trapped butterfly.

  “This would be the third referral,” Zoriah said.

  Her precious teenage son said nothing, arms folded, staring out of the window with every appearance of boredom. What was he looking at, besides his future dribbling down a drain? She wanted to smack him.

  “Yes,” the counselor said, voice soft.

  “If he’s taken from my care, will my housing allotment be reduced?” Zoriah asked, knowing the answer. She knew what a third intervention meant. They all did. Focusing on practical matters helped prevent her from breaking down.

  “That’s possible.”

  They’d lucked out with the neighborhood they lived in now, one of the few remaining family sections where four-bedroom homes were still relatively new, the parks updated. With one less minor in her custody, her and the girls would be moved to a three bedroom, and three bedroom homes in low-tier sections in Omaha were... infamous.

  Khalid stirred. “Ma. It’s all right, I’m not going to get referred.”

  She struggled to remember the self-soothing visualization techniques. Ocean waves, the sun beating on her neck and the scent of brine and grilling fish. Peace and tranquility.

  “Do you know something we don’t, Khalid?”

  They had to teach low-tier women visualization techniques because the government wasn’t ever going to allow them the opportunity to improve their lives. Once a low-tier, always a low-tier. Someone had to do the cooking and cleaning for the rich- real human staff being a sign of their wealth. Everyone could afford a bot these days.

  “I did it on purpose.”

  Ocean waves morphed into a tsunami. “You what?”

  He turned in the seat, faced her fully. “Look. I’m sixteen. Technically, I can drop out if I register for either a-”

  “What have I told you about government sponsored trade school programs! It’s indentured servitude.”

  His mouth tightened. “Stop yelling, Ma. Just listen, alright? I haven’t been skipping school to jack off.”

  Zoriah winced. Did her son understand the... alternative... meanings of that phrase? She’d taken away his internet devices years ago to prevent learning such things.

  “I’ve been training with the Yadeshi. At YETI.” He paused. “Yadeshi Earth Training-”

  Really? “I’m not stupid.”

  He shrugged, snapping his mouth closed.

  And she’d thought registering for a state run trade school was the worst thing he could do, besides run afoul of a street organization.

  “The damn Yadeshi. Are you out of your mind? The Yadeshi are...” words failed her.

  Irritation flashed in his dark eyes. “They’re warriors,” he snapped. “They have discipline, and they’re smart. And loyal. Like a family.”

  Zoriah couldn’t speak. She’d done her best. Maybe she could do better. Sixteen was young to have a baby, and to be forced to wed the father, who hadn’t wanted to settle down so young… the state didn’t care. They just wanted two financially responsible parents in the home.

  Which meant living under the radar of SIA until Khalid was a legal adult. Which meant that with this third referral for misconduct, SIA would stick their nose back into her home life and evaluate not only her parenting of him, but of her two daughters. Which meant Zoriah needed to figure out something, and fast.

  The counselor pursed her lips. “If your plan was to enter the training program with the Yadeshi, I could hold off on that referral. I don’t approve of you skipping school to force us to allow you to train, but under the circumstances what is done, is done.”

  “What?” Zoriah stared at her. “How can you condone a child turning himself over to those blue skinned-”

  “Don’t be specieist, Ma.”

  “Is that a word?”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Ms. Beckett interjected. “Human students who graduate are offered opportunities for travel, employment-”

  “As mechanics and mail-order brides.” Did she really have any choice but to allow it? They knew what the alternative was, damn her too-clever son.

  “They accept humans in their tech and ground soldier units,” Khalid said.

  “Have you turned in your paperwork?” Ms. Beckett asked. “You’ll need a mentor to sign off. It can take a while.”

  He smiled, crossing his ankles. “I started as a scrub-”

  The woman cleared her throat. “Prospect.”

  “Whatever. I started training as a prospect already. With Adekhan Benyon Obe’shan.”

  Ms. Beckett’s eyes widened. “An Adekhan? Khalid, that’s wonderful news!”

  Zoriah rubbed her head. “What is an Adekhan?”

  She’d ignored all talk of the alien warriors, even though they’d been on earth a good ten years. Zoriah didn’t approve of violence, and their whole culture was based on martial prowess. Once the reasons for their alliance with Earth became known- access to fertile human women for marriage, and human men to train as skilled tech-laborers, since the men of their society all wanted to run around with lightswords- she’d decided to write them off.

  “An honored warrior,” Khalid said. “One who proved his willingness in battle to die for his unit.”

  Perfect. Just... perfect. “How long has this been going on?”

  He stopped staring her down then, eyes sliding back towards the window. “A few months.”

  “When? You haven’t been skipping school for a few months.”

  “I’ve been going on the weekends.”

  “What about the enrichment program?” She worked the weekends and wasn’t home to monitor him.

  “There was no program, Ma.”

  Zoriah closed her eyes. “And your sisters?”

  He paused.

  “And your sisters?”

  “They’ve been training with me.”

  He watched Ladasha sit in a chair across from him. Benyon nodded, acknowledging her presence and giving her, a warrior not yet ranked Adekhan, permission to speak.

  "Did you consider my
co-habitation request?" she asked.

  After several years among the humans, Benyon learned the Yadeshi were considered direct. It hadn’t bothered him before- but he'd come to enjoy the small meaningless conversations when walking among their shopkeepers and service people.

  "It's hot today," he said, in English.

  Her brow furrowed. "It has been hot for the last five years."

  So much for little talk. "Never mind. I considered your request. I've chosen to decline."

  She didn’t look surprised. He’d never shown interest in her as a woman, though they fought well together and they'd run several successful joint training simulations with the prospects. Ladasha was competent, even tempered and physically attractive, the epitome of a Yadeshi woman. Well-toned musculature didn’t detract from slender curves.

  “I thought so,” she said. “Can you tell me why?”

  A reasonable request.

  "You are a fine warrior, and an attractive woman. I don’t think we would suit. I am honored by the request."

  "We're both warriors. I will make Adekhan in the next battle."

  He didn’t doubt it. Benyon wasn’t accustomed to explaining himself, but there was nothing challenging in her demeanor. "My mother would not approve."

  Ladasha paused. "Your mother is dead."

  Yes. Defending him from invaders. His mother, who'd rejected the Yadeshi warrior way of life to live simply, by the effort of her hands. A warm woman, and hardworking, with a soft body and broad smile. But in the end, she'd been Yadeshi to the core, dispatching enough of the enemy for him to find safety before her death.

  "She would have wanted my marks to merge with a woman like her," he said. "She was not a warrior."

  She nodded and rose, leaving the table with a brief, perfunctory salute. Watching her, Benyon sighed. His assignment on Earth ended in a few months, but he hadn't considered leave taking. The thought of merging with a human woman lured him- they were a tantalizing combination of softness and warrior spirit. But even though he’d spoken to many who intrigued, none yet had sparked his markings.