Hazel inspected the sitting area and selected the comfiest looking chair. “You have a lot of women in your life, Seeran Rhew. I’m not sure I approve.” She intended to tease but it came out harsher, like an accusation.
He chuffed but did not seem upset. “You will meet the warlord’s female and then you will know that some females are impossible to avoid.”
“I already met one human woman. Meridan. I think she’s a nurse.”
“Medic Kalen’s female. She assists in the medical bay. We have discovered that Kalen does not have the bedside method to make females at ease.”
Hazel wanted to laugh at the mangled words but knew what he meant. She gave the room another look. “What’s behind the doors?”
Seeran gave a short tour. “Spare bedroom. Cleansing room. Our bedroom.”
The room had a large, low profile bed. Above the bed hung a ceremonial sword, the fine blade gleaming in the light. Knowing the Mahdfel, the sword was not ceremonial but very real. Rough wooden planks lined the walls. Plush rugs were scattered across the floor. There was a bench, a built-in wardrobe and a chair with a small table tucked to the side, clearly meant for her to curl up in and read away an afternoon.
“Our bedroom, huh?”
“If this displeases you, there is the spare—”
“No. This is good.” Hazel imaged the neatly made bed and plump pillows as they would appear the morning after a night of hard, fierce loving. How soon would Seeran expect that? They were married on paper, which was good enough for Earth, but the contract clearly stated that the Mahdfel did not consider the marriage final until sealed with sex. The contract also clearly stated that sex happened at her discretion. She could not be forced or pressured into the act.
She glanced quickly at Seeran, once again admiring the strength in his thighs and the way the fabric of his trousers moved as he walked.
Seeran opened the wardrobe and stripped off his shirt, revealing a broad back and the thick, corded muscles of his arms. His shoes and trousers came off just as quickly and there her alien husband’s bare magenta butt was in all its glory, without a shred of modesty or cloth.
A blush crept over her. She really hoped he didn’t want to wait long.
She also really hoped he’d turn around.
He did. Hazel gave a little squeak of surprise, her eyes focusing on his face. His face, dang it.
“You changed color again. Are you too hot? I will adjust the temperature.”
“No, I’m good.” She gave her husband a smile. “Really.”
He nodded and dressed quickly in a set of casual black togs. “Your luggage has not been delivered yet. Do you wish to shower and wear one of my tunics?”
“No thank you.”
“You have worn the same items for more than twenty-four hours. I have been informed that is unacceptable for many Terrans. Surely you wish to be clean.”
She did feel grungy. The skin on her lower back had the itchy, crawling sensation it got when she needed a shower. “A shower sounds great.”
Seeran showed her the controls in the cleansing room. Steam filled the room as Hazel waited for him to leave. He continued to lurk. With a sigh, she undressed. Hot water and soap worked wonders to clear her head.
She found a neatly folded white tunic waiting on the counter. As she dressed, she noticed the bruising on her arms were nearly gone. That must have been the “other treatments” the nurse mentioned. Alien medicine wasn’t so bad.
Lorran waited in the common room. He broke off whatever conversation he had with his brother and stood at attention. He gave her a deep bow.
Seeran’s tunic was large enough on her to fit like a dress but she felt exposed all the same. No pants. No panties. No bra.
“Seeran instructed me to bring back a selection of mild foods, as you were ill from the teleporter. I hope they please you, sister.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. I mean, great. Thank you. They seem good.”
Lorran gave her another bow and with a short nod to Seeran, he left them.
What Lorran brought was chicken noodle soup. Hazel laughed as the familiar salty aroma hit her. Sick food. “Did you see this on TV, too?”
“I have been on Earth for the last month, assigned to protect pilot Vox’s female. She insisted this was the sustenance for when a person felt ‘barfy’.”
“Thank you. I’m starving.”
His eyes grew wide. “Nothing about your appearance suggests malnutrition. I am badly misinformed about Terran biology.”
Stars, he was cute. And hot.
“I mean I’m hungry.” She took a spoonful. The soup was good. “So how many brothers do you have?”
“Two. Lorran, who you have met, and Mene. I am the middle child.”
“Lorran is younger?”
“Correct.”
“Three sons. Is that a lot?”
His chest puffed up. “It is a large family. My father was very virile, as I am sure to be.”
“And how many babies were you planning on?” The idea of children didn’t terrify her. In the past it had. A baby would have tied Scott to her forever. She didn’t have much control of her body or her life while married but at least she managed to get birth control. Plus, the entire point of the Mahdfel-Earth Treaty was babies. She could hardly be surprised it was a top priority for Seeran.
“Many,” he said with supreme confidence.
That idea terrified her.
“Many?”
“At least three, or more if you can.” He paused, his eyes getting that cool look again. He leaned across the table and laid a hand on her wrist. “Only what is safe for you. Any child would be a gift from the stars but I would not sacrifice you for a son.”
Well, there was that.
“Will your family be upset that I’m not Sangrin?” Was he?
He tilted his head to one side. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you know—” She waved a hand to highlight the general aesthetic of the space. “It seems that Sangrin culture is very important to you. Them.”
That cool look again. “I enjoy the familiarity of home. They will accept you without question. And your family?”
Rosemary. “Ah, well... I told my sister last night about my great plan—”
“A plan that worked in my favor.”
“Even so, she wasn’t a fan.”
“Will she object to you being with a Mahdfel?”
“Probably.” Hazel pushed away the bowl of soup. She would need to call her sister tomorrow, to let her know where she landed. That kind of communication had to be expensive. “Look, what I’m going to say isn’t pretty. The only aliens we ever really saw were the scary ones that murdered our parents. I never really knew or even spoke to a Mahdfel. We were scared. She had a kid, Michael, to avoid the draft. You know what I did. So no, I don’t think she’s super excited about this.”
He grunted. Hazel yawned.
“You are tired.”
“I have a lot of questions. Like that human nurse. Was she a nurse before or is she a nurse now because she’s married to a medic? Can I have a job, too? I don’t have any fancy certificates or qualifications, but I like to stay busy. I waitressed, that has to be universal—”
“You will not bring food to males,” he announced, voice firm.
“Wait, what?”
“You will not. I forbid it.” His chest heaved, as if enraged and hanging on by a thread.
“Okay, no waitressing. Chill.” Her words calmed him.
He breathed out, long and slow, like he recited a mantra in his head. Finally, “You may have an occupation if you chose. The warlord’s female will want to give you a tour. She would be a good person to ask.”
That was another thing she wanted to ask. “What’s going to happen with the—” She gestured to his broken horn.
“The warlord gave me an impossible task and will work me until his wrath is satisfied. The usual.”
“No more breaking bones?”
“A horn is
not a bone. It is mostly cartilage and sinew.”
Nothing about his statement made it better. Violence was how they solved problems here. Seeran claimed the warlord had been a scientist—a scientist!—and the male had snapped a bone with his bare hands with trivial ease. Hazel kept her worries to herself as they prepared for bed.
Wearing only pants, his hands hesitated at the waistband in a manner that implied he normally slept in the buff but decided against it. For her. She appreciated the thought but a naked alien wasn’t going to freak her out. Too many freak-out worthy events had happened today for her to get upset about exposed skin.
She knew they weren’t having sex. Not tonight. Medication hid the lingering effects of the teleportation sickness but she could tell her head wasn’t right. When they made love, finally, she wanted to be able to appreciate every touch.
Seeran noticed her staring and preened, chest puffed out with a smirk. “You admire your mate.”
Well, duh, but she didn’t need to feed that ego of his. “Does it hurt?”
His head titled.
“The horn?”
“No. It is cartilage and sinew, as I said. The nerve endings are at the base.” He took her hand and placed it at the root of his intact horn. Her fingers pressed into something spongy but not unpleasant. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed with pleasure.
“I’m not, oh—” She pulled her hand back. The base of his horn seemed to have a direct line to his cock, which stood at full mast, tenting the front of his trousers. Briefly she wondered at the color. Paler? Darker? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Mates do not apologize for what gives them pleasure,” he said. Heat and something predatory replaced the cool distance in his eyes. She was about to be pounced.
He lightly gripped her chin and moved her head to one side, exposing her neck. He’d promised to bite her. Hazel steeled herself for the inevitable sink of fangs into her flesh.
His teeth grazed the tender flesh of her ear lobe. A shiver went through her.
“It is like that,” he said.
“I don't want to have sex tonight,” Hazel blurted. She blushed fiercely. “I mean, I do. I will. Just not tonight.”
His fingers skated over the heated flesh of her cheeks. “It is dishonorable to lay with a female who is injured or ill.” He brought his face closer, the warmth in his fires now an honest-to-goodness blaze. “No matter how much I desire.”
“I’d be all over you if I weren’t so darn tired,” Hazel admitted. Dishonorable or not.
“Sleep, now. It’s been a long day,” Seeran said, pulling her down to the bed next to him. His warmth enveloped her and she was asleep in moments.
Chapter Twelve
Two Weeks Later
Seeran
THE GLOW OF AN ARTIFICIAL dawn woke Seeran. Birdsong gradually replaced the drowsy chirr of insects. The night sky projected on the ceiling turned into the misty grey sky of his parent’s home. He couldn’t explain why he clung to the sights and sounds of his youth. He never considered himself overly sentimental and it was not nostalgia that kept the familiar program running daily. Perhaps he drew comfort from the familiarity of the patterns but he had never been the type to wallow in self-reflection.
A warrior’s life could be long and companions along the journey gave comfort. The recordings made at his parent’s vineyard kept his family close. Lorran remained physically close on the Judgment, but schedules kept them separate. Mene had left the clan many years ago for another. His parents retired to Sangrin and his father took up a position on the Council. Physical distance kept them apart but when he woke each day, in those moments, they were there with him.
Perhaps he was more prone to wallowing in self-reflection than he cared to admit.
He was never alone, even if he were the only person in the room. The ghosts of the lost and false mates always lingered. He’d never spoken to Lova. Never set eyes on her. In truth, he did not know enough of her to notice a lack. He felt her absence, yes, but it was the same absence of any male waiting to find his mate. It was not a burden he enjoyed but not one he resented.
Hazel rolled to her side, wrapping herself deeper in a cocoon of blankets.
He was not alone, not anymore. His mate slept beside him.
The last week he’d had the most restful sleep he’d experienced in years. Her heartbeat and even breathing lulled him at night and the little growling noises she made while asleep assured him of her wellbeing. The warmth of her, the softness and her scent, kept him in bed longer than normal and he did not mind.
Her breathing changed. She awoke.
The longer they laid next to each other, the more temptation grew to roll over and kiss her. Pinch her nipples between his fingers until they were hard and suck until she begged for relief. Worship at her slit and drink in her sweetness. Sink into her...
Did he think they were alone? No. Beyond the ghost of his lost mate and her false mate—the past was the past, after all—there lingered his dishonor. It hung heavy in the air. He had dishonored his clan.
Hazel was everything. He could not risk her or the life they would forge together if he claimed her before he was worthy. He needed to complete the warlord’s task, find the traitor, and then...
And then...
His thoughts filled with anticipation.
He needed out of the bed. Every moment weakened his resolve. He sprang out, announcing, “Waken, my mate.”
Hazel rolled onto her stomach, head buried under a pillow. “No. Go away.”
“The day is fresh. We have much to do.”
“I’m on vacation.”
“You are not. You are being lazy.”
She muttered something, rude by the tone, into the pillow.
Grinning, Seeran grabbed her ankle and dragged her toward the edge of the bed.
“Watch it!” Her legs thrashed, kicking but making no contact. The fabric of the flimsy night shift rode up, exposing her thighs and the pale blue fabric of her panties.
“I will have morning meal with my female,” Seeran said. Her perfectly round ass rose from the rumpled sheets. His appetite increased but for a wholly different repast. He erroneously believed getting out of bed would remove temptation. It only placed temptation directly in front of him, in pale blue panties.
“This is mine,” he said, one hand caressing her bottom. She was so soft and succulent. A warrior could feast. His other hand settled between her shoulder blades, pinning her to the mattress. She gave an enticing wiggle but did not protest the rough treatment.
He longed to settle between her thighs and sink his length into her. Then he would sink his fangs into the tender flesh of her shoulder and claim her properly.
“Seeran,” she moaned, her ass rising, inviting—
No. He might have lost his control on Earth but not in his home. Their home.
He pulled his hand away.
Still...
A memento wouldn’t hurt. A token for motivation.
He hooked his fingers under the edge of her panties and tugged them down. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“These are mine.”
The fabric rolled down, uncovering the pale and tender flesh of her ass. He tugged the fabric, the heady aroma of her desire perfumed the air and revealed the dark curls of her pussy. Without thinking, he tugged the hair. Hazel moaned, deep and throaty.
“Your cunt hair is different from your head hair. Explain.” He knelt for closer inspection. His fingers parted her folds, exposing pink flesh slick with desire. She opened for him, arching her back and lifting her hips to give him a better angle.
“I bleached my hair.”
The knowledge that her mismatched hair was a secret, shared only with him, excited him and went like a bolt straight to his cock.
“This is mine,” he said with a thick voice. He pressed his nose to her cunt, breathing in her scent. It was not for him to taste her, not yet.
“When, Seeran? Because waiting is driving me c
razy,” she said, frustration obvious in her voice.
“Soon.”
He slipped off the panties and took them for his own. He neatly folded the damp fabric and placed them in his front trouser pocket.
His mate flipped over in the bed. “Hey, I need those.”
“These are mine. Was I not clear?”
She folded her arms over her chest in a mock sulk. Or a real sulk. He was learning her facial expressions but not quickly enough. “I need those.”
“And I needed them more.”
“You planning on sniffing them all day long or something?”
“Yes, for motivation.” The sooner he found the traitor, the sooner he could claim his mate in good conscious. “Now out of bed.”
She gave him a skeptical look before climbing out, flashing a tantalizing glimpse of the dark thatch of her cunt. On her feet, she tugged down the hem of the night shift. “How do I get... things?” she asked. She motioned to her chest.
His eyes fixed on her heavy breasts. The nipples hardened and poked at the thin fabric. “Eh? I am sure puberty happens to Terrans the same as Mahdfel.”
“No.” Her skin went that remarkable pink again. The night shift exposed enough skin to inform him that, yes, the color did go everywhere. “Clothes? Under things?”
Ah.
“Because someone just took my last pair of panties.”
He patted the pocket of his trousers, harboring no regrets. “You have a budget of tokens and can make the request via the computer interface. Items can be retrieved from the requisition department.” Brides came from every planet and few seldom knew where they were being shipped to: space station, ship, or a planet’s surface. Even fewer brought appropriate garments. Each bride received a budget to outfit themselves properly. To have a female grow ill due to heat or the cold when the correct garment could avoid the situation was unacceptable.
“I tried that but I couldn’t make out the instructions.”
He nodded. “It is not intuitive. We will drink the coffee and I will show you.”
Seeran: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 6) Page 10
