Jaxar: Warlord Brides
Warriors of Sangrin #8
Starr Huntress
Nancey Cummings
Jaxar: Warlord Brides
Warriors of Sangrin #8
Copyright Nancey Cummings
Cover design by Nancey Cummings
Published February 2020
Published by Menura Press
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book only. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printer or electronic form without prior written person from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction and all people, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older.
Created with Vellum
Contents
About Jaxar
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Nancey Cummings
About the Author
About Jaxar
Once bitten, twice shy.
Vanessa knows what aliens want—babies—and she’s not having it. She’ll change her name, change her ID information, and hunker down on a miserable moon on the far side of the galaxy before she gets matched to an alien brute.
Again.
Jaxar knows that Vanessa is the one for him, but he needs time to convince her. With the clock ticking, he’ll do anything to claim her reluctant heart.
Even steal her.
The Story So Far
When the aliens arrived on Earth, it happened with an invasion—just like the sci-fi movies taught us to expect.
The vicious Suhlik meant to enslave Earth and rob her of her resources. Only the Mahdfel warriors stood against them.
Once the slaves of the Suhlik, the Mahdfel won their freedom. But as a lingering reminder of their oppression at the hands of the Suhlik, they cannot have female children.
Now, in exchange for protecting Earth, the hunky alien warriors demand only one price: every childless, single and otherwise healthy woman on Earth is tested for genetic compatibility for marriage with a Mahdfel warrior. If the match is 98.5 percent or higher, the bride is instantly teleported away to her new mate.
No exceptions.
This story includes a few sensitive topics, such as infertility and the loss of a child.
Chapter 1
Vanessa
Van rushed to the front door, shrugging on her hoodie. Whoever was knocking on the door at—she glanced at the clock—nine in the morning had better have a damn good excuse. She had thirty minutes to get to class and couldn’t afford to be late again.
A man smiled brightly when she answered. “Miss Vanessa Acosta?”
“Van Acosta, actually,” she replied.
The man’s smile faltered. “I’m Chaz Gable with the Federal Bureau of Intergalactic Affairs.” He flashed a badge.
“You don’t look old enough to be a Fed,” she said bluntly. Mr. Too-damn-peppy-in-the-morning didn’t look old enough to have his driver’s license, honestly.
“I’m more of a contractor.”
“Uh-huh. Is there a reason you’re knocking on my door at this unholy hour?” She had her suspicions as to why a Fed would be darkening her door. Hopefully, she was wrong.
“It’s after nine.” He scanned her from head to toe, taking in her worn-out pink hoodie and ratty sneakers. Van pulled up the hood to cover her unbrushed, dark auburn hair, still damp from the shower. She knew she looked the part of the classic, sleep-deprived grad student, fueled entirely by sugar and caffeine.
“Can this wait? I need to get to class.” After guzzling a gallon of coffee, because clichés were clichés for a reason. Her stomach rumbled. “And grab some breakfast.”
“Ah, right. Women in your situation don’t normally—”
She gave him a flat stare, tired of strangers who thought they knew her and her situation. “Do go on. I’m dying to know.”
He visibly gulped. “I sent you information about volunteering for the Mahdfel Brides Program. Did you receive it?” He rummaged through the messenger bag and produced a flyer. He held it out to Van, but she made no move to take it.
“Can we speak inside?”
There was a lot to unpack in that statement and Van’s response depended entirely on how cranky she felt.
“What do you mean women in my situation?”
Super cranky. That was how Van felt.
“Women who have been matched are highly likely to be matched again,” Chaz said, like that was a good thing. “We wanted you to be aware of all the benefits of volunteering for a match again. The financial compensation is not insignificant.”
“Not interested.” Van knew she was likely to be matched again, if she so chose, and she chose not to go through that again.
His thin lips tightened disapprovingly. “Many consider it your duty to volunteer again, to help create a new generation of Mahdfel to protect Earth.”
“But it’s still voluntary.”
“As of today, yes.” He glanced over his shoulder in a completely obvious move. “That could change. Of course, volunteering willingly has more benefits than being mandated to volunteer.”
“That’s not what voluntary means.” At all.
His expression twisted into what she thought was supposed to be sympathy but looked more like he’d just stubbed his toe. “Look, it sucks. I know that. You know that. But, if you volunteer, you save another girl from going, one who still has her entire life ahead of her. Your neighbors are talking, after all, about how selfish you’re being by staying.”
Oh no, gossip.
She rolled her eyes. Her neighbors were college students, like her. Well, not as old as her, but students, nonetheless. Not a single one of them gave her a second thought unless they needed her to buy booze for them.
“You’re right. It sucks,” Van said. Chaz relaxed and a smarmy smile stretched across his face. “It sucks the way you think that you can intimidate me by implying that the law may change and force me to volunteer or shame me with gossiping neighbors.”
His smile vanished and that made Van grin. “You accepted a large sum of money when you were initially matched.”
The bride price. Compensation, the government called it. Usually, the money went to the family, as if credits in the bank could compensate for snatching a daughter away and sending her across the universe to parts unknown.
To an unknown alien.
The money probably did help lots of families pay bills, pay for educations, get medical care, or just get decent housing. The Invasion may have been sixteen-ish years ago, but most areas were still rebuilding and recovering, not to mention all the people who lived with their injuries. Millions of lives ended, but millions more had been forever changed.
Not that Van’s father used the money for a noble purpose. He gambled away the majority and spent the rest on booze.
“Right now, the policy is that money does not have to be reclaimed. But, some members of the bureau feel that money shou
ld be repaid, as you did not fulfill the terms of the contract you signed,” he said, pausing for effect. “Policy can change.”
For a moment, her chest tightened, and her heart raced, but the flicker of fear was quickly replaced with the burning irritation of annoyance.
Shame had not worked, so now he outright threatened her. The little twerp. She took a deep breath and said in her most calm, most level voice, “I suppose that those pesky rules and regulations don’t apply to you, Chaz, being a contractor, and you’re hoping I don’t know my rights.”
He let his fake smile fall away completely, giving her a look of haughty disdain. “Look, I was given a list of names who are eligible to be tested. No one cares how I get you in the door.”
“I have a medical exemption,” Van said flatly.
“Oh. I have irreconcilable differences listed.” He looked down at the tablet like that was some sort of authority.
Van clenched her teeth. “Yeah. Havik and I were irreconcilable over the fact that if I have another baby, I could die, and I don’t want to die.”
“But you are fertile? You can get pregnant?” he asked, like he didn’t just hear her say that she’d die if she tried to have another baby.
All her patience evaporated. “Let me see that.” Van snatched the tablet. In one swift move, she bashed it against the door frame, cracking the tablet down the middle. “Oops.”
“That’s government property!”
“No, it’s not, and my uterus isn’t either, so how about you fuck off?” She slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt with more force than necessary.
Fuck.
With her back pressed against the door, Van slid to the floor. She pressed a hand over her chest, her heart thudding loud enough to be audible. Was it beating too fast? Too frantic? No breakfast and no meds. She couldn’t remember the last time she checked her blood pressure or her heart rate. She’d been fine with no symptoms for so long.
Van closed her eyes and focused on breathing. Just breathing.
Was Chaz the petty, spiteful type? After the shock wore off from her breaking his tablet, he’d looked angry. Furious, even. Yeah, he was probably the kind of guy who got off on abusing power.
And he had significant power over her.
Van’s hands shook. Holding her breath, she let it out slowly and counted backwards. She wasn’t being paranoid, not when the planet’s government sold out half the population. One jerk with a chip on his shoulder could cause her serious problems.
Her brief marriage to Havik took little more than a year from her life but it continued to overshadow every day after. She had been twenty-two when she was matched, yanked out of her botany program at university just a few credits shy of graduating, and sent across the universe to make a baby with an alien.
It hadn’t been all bad. Havik had treated her well enough. They had little in common, but the sex was amazing. Then she got pregnant—because duh, sex was easier than talking to each other. It had been a difficult pregnancy from the beginning. Nauseous constantly, she lost too much weight. Her blood pressure was dangerously high. In the end, her body couldn’t keep her and the baby alive. The medics forbade another pregnancy. She was not strong enough.
So Havik sent her back to Earth, like a wrong-sized sweater, like she was defective. Van lost her baby, her husband, and her health all in one go.
And now some government contractor was sniffing around, trying to convince her to do it again.
It was voluntary. That’s what the FBIA agent told her when she returned to Earth.
Voluntary.
Repeating the word did not ease her panic. She should call someone, and a little voice in her head suggested that she call her father.
Van would have laughed if she weren’t hyperventilating. She’d spoken to her father once—once—since returning to Earth and he said, “So you’re back. I hope you’re not looking for a handout.”
No questions about what she was doing divorced from aliens that mated for life, not one question about her health or even where she planned on staying until she got back on her feet. Nope. Ricky Acosta just wanted her to know that he didn’t do charity, not even for his own flesh and blood.
Not that she expected anything different from him. Van had been on her own for a long time.
Class wasn’t happening today. Instead, she searched her desk for a business card. She remembered it clearly because who gave out paper business cards nowadays?
Agent P. Novak.
Her hand trembled as she contemplated contacting the agent and… She drew a blank. Do what, exactly? Report that a contractor lied and hurt her feelings? Tried to intimidate her into volunteering again? He might lose his job, but there were myriad other contractors like him in the industry.
How much longer before the military police knocked on her door, convinced she skipped her mandatory testing and dragged her in, all because of a computer glitch?
Her information would always be on some list and one day, either intentionally or accidentally, her status would change from “voluntary” to “mandatory.”
Van could only see one way forward. She couldn’t stay on Earth.
Jaxar
Stanelle plopped down on the ground next to Jaxar, panting from the climb up the hill. Carrying two bottles of cold beer, he passed one over.
They sat in companionable silence, sipping beer while Jaxar hid his grimace. His metabolism burned the alcohol too quickly to achieve a buzz and he did not enjoy the sour malted flavor, but he drank to appease Stanelle. A warm summer breeze carried floral scents from the garden below.
“You just had to show off and climb the hill, didn’t ya?” Stanelle leaned back against the tree and stretched out his legs, rubbing his knee. It was a subtle reminder that while they were the same age, Jaxar was in the prime of his life and his cousin was well into his middle years.
“Your knees?”
“My knees, my hips, my entire being.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You know when you’re young and dumb and hurt yourself, they say you’ll feel it when you get older. They weren’t fucking kidding.”
Jaxar grunted a response but had nothing to add. Only a few years separated him from his Sangrin cousin, but they had reached the point in their lifespans when Stanelle would age rapidly and Jaxar would remain the same.
Happy noises from the engagement party drifted up. His niece, still a child in his mind, was with child and would be a mated female soon.
His entire family aged faster than him, leaving him behind as they carried on with their lives. At times, the longevity of the Mahdfel felt more like a curse than a gift.
“I cannot believe Dania is old enough to be mated,” Jaxar said.
“And has a young one on the way.” Stanelle gave his stomach an exaggerated pat.
They fell back into silence, listening to the music and laughter that filled the evening air.
His family had always slipped away from him. He had fuzzy memories of his Mahdfel father and Sangrin mother, more good than bad and, thankfully, very little of the events that took his parents’ lives. He knew the facts, having read the reports of how the Judgment’s hull had been compromised. The Suhlik boarded the ship, invaded the clan’s stronghold, and violated homes.
His mother stuffed him into the cramped space behind a wall panel. She had a blaster in hand and faced the door to their quarters. This he remembered with clarity. If the Suhlik came, she would take as many with her as possible. Pride at the memory of his mother’s courage filled him, made bittersweet because a targeted blast ripped through the shields and took a chunk out of the hull. In their family’s cabin, the tear in the wall had been barely bigger than his hand but it was enough to vent his mother into space.
The decompression pulled at him, knocking him into the paneling, but the wall held, rattling and straining. His mind grew fuzzy from the lack of oxygen and the extreme cold. His heart rate slowed, nearing death, but he survived long enough for the shielding to kick in and seal th
e breach. At some point, he had been retrieved, but both his parents were gone.
The universe could be cold and fickle. He survived only through luck.
The thought chilled him.
“Dania is still dancing?” he asked, breaking the quiet to herd his thoughts in a more pleasant direction.
“Youth. I can’t keep up with her,” Stanelle answered with a chuckle.
After his parents’ death, his mother’s sister took him in. Growing up a Mahdfel youth in a Sangrin household had its challenges. Jaxar was always bigger than the other children. He never fit in and the size difference was only one manifestation of those differences. He had more energy and limitless curiosity but no focus. Disassembling the engine to the family’s vehicle to see how it worked or climbing the tallest structure and jumping, just to see what would happen when he fell, were equally likely to happen. He was prone to fits of anger. His body needed to move, constantly.
He knew he tried the patience of his aunt and uncle, but they never threatened to send him away to his father’s clan. As odd and mismatched as he was to his family, he belonged to them.
Only a few years younger than Jaxar, Stanelle had been his constant companion. For every terrible idea Jaxar had, Stanelle was right by his side, usually with a bruise or a broken bone.
Jaxar frowned. His Mahdfel genes allowed him to heal quickly. Stanelle was Sangrin, just an ordinary male, and healed at a depressingly slow rate. He didn’t understand that difference when they were youths but now, he felt ashamed at how often he led his cousin into calamity.
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