Her Alien Forgemasters

by Susan Hayes

  “What do you know about them? Tra’v and Damos, I mean.” She hadn’t meant to shorten Tra’var’s name, but that’s how she thought of him. Great. Her brain was assigning nicknames already.

  “They are hardworking and skilled masters of their craft,” N’tev said.

  Saral gave her mate a sideways look of amusement. “Is that what you said about me? I think Anya is looking for some less practical information.”

  N’tev smiled. “I said you were the most beautiful female I had ever seen. At least, that’s all I remember now.”

  “Mhmm. We’ll discuss your memory of events another time. Perhaps Antas can help fill in the gaps.”

  “The only gaps I’m interested in filling are…” N’tev broke off when Saral raised a brow at him. “Right. Anya first. Gaps later.”

  “Is this what I have to look forward to?” Anya asked, waving her hand at N’tev.

  “I hope so,” Saral said.

  So did she, and Anya couldn’t tell if it was her head, her heart, or the sharhal making the call.

  “As to your question. They are not overly social, but from what I’ve heard they are well-liked and respected. A few are uneasy about Damos, but that’s understandable given his differences.”

  “Differences?” Anya raised one hand and wiggled her fingers. “Like the retractable talons?” She wanted to ask if that was why he’d referred to himself as a monster, but that had been a private confession just between the three of them.

  “And his wings,” N’tev confirmed. “He’s the only one who trains exclusively on the ground. He cannot fly well, or for long.”

  “Was he injured? I thought your people had nanotech to fix things like that.”

  “Not injured, no. It’s the way he was born. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. His mother was not a pure Vardarian. She must have been overlooked for the usual tests and in-utero adjustments.” Saral said it so casually it took Anya a moment to grasp what she was really saying.

  “What adjustments?” she prompted.

  “To ensure that all children are a physical match to their Vardarian parents. It is optional, of course, but if it’s not done, the child will face a certain amount of… let’s call it resistance in society. Especially in the heart of the empire.”

  Anya wanted to rail and rant in horror, but she couldn’t. Humans were hardly in a position to judge other races. They had their own biases and failures to overcome. But what Saral was talking about sounded alarmingly like genetic purification, and the idea blew a very large hole in the hull of the theory that the Vardarians were the superior race. Not that they ever made that claim, but she and many of the others had assumed it.

  Apparently they were wrong.

  “So Damos isn’t pure Vardarian? He looks like one.”

  “He is not. Given his appearance and the talons, I’d assume he is part Ferrym. They’re one of the few races in the galaxy we can procreate with. In fact, a link in our genomes indicates we share a common ancestor, though no one is sure how we ended up inhabiting different planetary systems with no awareness of each other until a few hundred years ago,” Saral said.

  “I had no idea,” Anya said.

  “It’s another reason colonies like this one are created from time to time. Not everyone agrees with the practice, or the bias against those who didn’t undergo the procedures. I imagine that’s one of the reasons why Damos and his anrik are here.”

  That made sense. Just about everyone here was looking for a chance to reset their lives one way or another.

  N’tev leaned forward, his voice pitched low. “If you are concerned about it, of course you can still have the procedure done on your own children. They could be pure Vardarian and no one would question your choice.”

  “My children?” Great googly galaxies. She hadn’t even considered that. Humans lived well over a hundred years these days, but women still only had a limited supply of eggs. She was over forty, which meant the odds of her having children now was… Damn. She had no idea. But kids hadn’t been a consideration for her in a very long time.

  “There’s no reason you couldn’t have their children. They are a source of great joy. Also, frustration, sleeplessness, and fury, but mostly joy.” Saral smiled.

  “Sounds like the job I have now, only I get to sleep in every morning,” Anya joked.

  “After running bars all these years, I think you’ll find parenting remarkably easy,” Saral said.

  “And alarmingly similar,” N’tev agreed.

  They talked a while longer, answering questions about how the sharhal would likely progress and what she should expect. It helped to know the details, and it was much easier to think while she was away from her potential mates. Now she understood why that was—pheromones. She wasn’t aware of them, but her body reacted to them anyway. The longer she was in their company, the stronger the effect.

  She returned to the tavern with N’tev and Saral. The snow hadn’t stopped yet, and she took a few minutes to play in it before the cold drove her inside. The place was already empty, and it didn’t take long to cash out and close up for the night. The whole time, her head was full of thoughts of Damos, Tra’var, and what her future might look like now.

  She’d only signed a three-year contract for this place. Unlike the rest of Haven’s citizens, she had no nanotech and didn’t plan to get it any time soon. It meant she was free to leave at any time. She’d wanted that. Hell, she’d insisted on having that choice.

  And now she didn’t have it anymore. At least, not unless she found a way to break the mating bond already forming between her and her alien mates.

  Tra’var didn’t need his wings tonight. He was flying high on the knowledge that they had found their mahaya. She wasn’t what he’d envisioned, but that didn’t matter. She was theirs.

  When they reached their home in the artist’s quarter, he ignored the front door and went to the side gate instead. He was too excited to sleep and had a hundred different ideas in his head about things they’d need to make for Anya. A dagger, for one thing. And jewelry with gemstones to match her eyes.

  Damos followed him, catching hold of his wrist as he headed to the forge.

  “Where the qarf are you going?”

  “To get started. We have a lot of work to do. What sort of blade do you think she’d like? I’m thinking something elegant. Maybe tarchozin with some gold inlaid in the hilt—”

  “Stop,” Damos said, and something in his tone made Tra’var pause and turn to look at him.

  “What is it?”

  “We can’t do this yet.” Damos was being cryptic, which usually meant he wasn’t happy but didn’t know how to express himself.

  “Yet? Oh, right! It’s late. The neighbors won’t appreciate it if we fire up the forge and start banging on metal. We can start first thing in the morning.”

  Damos’ jaw tightened. “No.” The word came out through gritted teeth.

  “No what? I’m going to need some more words. I’m a little distracted at the moment.” He slapped Damos’ arm. “We found her!”

  “We did. But she’s not Vardarian.”

  “And? Don’t tell me that’s going to be an issue for you.”

  “Don’t.” Damos snarled at him.

  Tra’var heard the warning in it. He just wasn’t sure what the warning was about. “Don’t what? I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me and getting snarly isn’t going to help.”

  “Don’t accuse me of being biased. You know that’s not it.”

  “I didn’t!” Tra’var pointed back to the house. “But clearly we need to have this conversation inside.”

  Damos turned on his heel and stomped inside. One look at his back and Tra’var knew how unhappy his anrik was. His wings were out again, which meant his scales were raised. Was this something to do with the sharhal’s affect? The Ferrym were more aggressive than Vardarians. Maybe this was normal for them. He’d need to do some reading tonight. But only once the two of them had talked.
>
  The back door led into their storage room. It was full of raw materials, partially finished projects, racks of weapons and cases full of jewelry waiting its turn to be displayed in the main store that took up the rest of the first floor.

  They lived above the shop, though that might need to change now they’d found Anya. She’d need space of her own, and with the redesign, this residence only had two bedrooms.

  Damos rounded on him the moment the door was shut. “Never accuse me of being biased against another being because of their species again.”

  His skin was bright gold, and a quick glance at his hands told Tra’var that his anrik was agitated enough his talons had reappeared.

  “I wasn’t sure what you meant, but I apologize. I should have worded it differently.”

  “Yes. You should have.”

  The words were bitten off so short Tra’var could almost see the teeth marks. “My head isn’t clear, and neither is yours. I am sorry, but I still don’t understand why you’re so angry. This is it, my brother. We have our mahaya!”

  “That’s the problem right there.” Damos picked up an unfinished blade from a work table and twirled it between his fingers as he spoke. “We don’t have her yet. You need to slow down. If this is going to work, you can’t proceed the way we would if Anya were Vardarian.”

  “Why? Her desire for us was as clear as the air above us. How can you doubt it after the way she kissed us and welcomed us into her home?”

  “We didn’t enter her home,” Damos reminded him.

  “But we did kiss her. I didn’t imagine that.” Tra’var still didn’t understand his anrik’s point. He was unhappy, that much was clear, but the reason for it wasn’t.

  Damos growled and shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it standing up in unruly spikes. “Desire is not the issue. But we were raised knowing what the sharhal was and what it meant. Humans only met our kind for the first time a year or so ago. That means that whatever Anya’s understanding of our species is, it’s new and likely has gaps big enough to fly a cruiser through.”

  “But this is our dream. A mate. A family. The three of us complete and happy. A mate to wake up with each morning.”

  “In whose bed? In whose home? Our mate has her own dreams. She runs a successful business and likes to be close to it for the same reasons we do. Before you start talking about offspring and waking up together, you need to find out what she wants. What I want. We’ve never discussed offspring and now you’re ready to move her in, slap a harani on her arm, and name our firstborn before the night is over.”

  “You don’t want children?” Tra’var had assumed Damos would. He had infinite patience with the young ones who sometimes came to watch them work at the forge. The children who had come to Haven with their parents were intrigued by their craft and would pepper them with questions if given half a chance.

  “Want is not the issue.” He pointed to his wings and then flexed his hands to show off his claws. “But what female would want a child with their father’s flaws?”

  Now he understood. “One who has already declared that she doesn’t think you’re a monster.” He grinned at Damos. “You’re aware you’re making the same mistake you just accused me of making. You’re right. We haven’t spoken to Anya about any of this yet.” He extended his arm, hand fisted, the round scar of their blood bonding ritual facing Damos.

  Without a word, Damos raised his arm to cross wrists with him, touching their scars together. Then he sighed. Within a few seconds, his talons retracted and his skin lost some of its luster.

  “This is…” He tapped a finger to the center of his forehead. “It’s hard to think right now.”

  “And the sharhal has only begun. How does anyone resist this for long?” He’d heard the stories of what happened to those who tried to deny the mating fever. They went mad. Many died. He’d known the facts, but now he was experiencing it for himself. Damos was right. He needed to slow down. Beginnings were delicate, and this was an important time for all of them.

  “I have no idea, but you need to find a way.”

  “So what you’re saying is… as difficult as it is to be rational right now, I’m going to have to resist the urge to go back to Anya’s place and bang on her door until she lets us in so we can claim her tonight?” Tra’var asked. He was mostly joking. Mostly.

  Damos snorted. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Too late for that.”

  This time, Damos just shook his head. “You are hopeless. Why did I ever agree to be your anrik?”

  “Because you needed someone who could put up with your broody, grumpy self, and you loved the idea of spending your life playing with fire.”

  “Ah, right. I knew there was a reason.” Damos was smiling now. “And I don’t suppose it would hurt to track down that partially finished tarchozin blade tonight. It would make a fine dagger for our mahaya.”

  “I’m glad you agree.” They started rummaging through the stacks of materials, both of them setting aside anything they thought might inspire them. It wasn’t often that they fought like this, but when they did, it was always about something important.

  Anya was the most important thing ever to happen to them. Tra’var had no doubt they were going to fight again.

  She’d be worth it.

  4

  Anya wasn’t a morning person. Her mother often teased that the last time Anya had been awake at the crack of dawn was the day she was born.

  It was probably true.

  By the time she was out of bed and ready to face the day, the rest of the colony had usually been active for at least a few hours. Today felt different. The usual day sounds were muffled and some of them were unfamiliar. Scraping and banging noises drew her to the nearest window out of curiosity.

  The sky was covered with a thick layer of lead-gray cloud and the ground was thick with snow. The change was startling. What little sunlight made it through the clouds reflected off the snow in new ways.

  Any other day, she would have camped out by the window with her mug of tea to watch. It was fascinating to see her neighbors use everything from push brooms and broad-headed shovels to some sort of tech she’d never seen before to clear the snow from their doors and market stalls. Today wasn’t a normal day, though. Not even close.

  Today she’d be spending time getting to know her mahoyen and trying to reconcile her need to always have an exit plan with the reality she was now faced with. Damos and Tra’var were her destined mates, and unless she deliberately sabotaged their trio, she would be with them forever.

  Forever.

  Just the word made her want to pack a bag and flee back to outer space. She didn’t do long-term relationships. Veth, she didn’t do long-term anything. Even her contract for the Bar None had a shorter renewal time than the norm. Commitment wasn’t a concept she was comfortable with. She should have known the universe would see that as a challenge. Now she was matched with two males whose biology was hard-wired for everything she wasn’t.

  A surge of annoyance hit and she looked skyward, both hands raised in an obscene gesture. “Fraxx you, universe.”

  It was a pointless, petty little rebellion that would probably earn her even more unpleasantness in the future, but she didn’t care. She’d been away from her living, breathing temptations long enough the sharhal was barely a whisper in her blood right now. That meant she was thinking clearly and free to lash out at whatever force had made this happen.

  The logical part of her mind knew this clarity was only temporary, but the rest of her was trying to convince herself that last night was all a mistake and she wasn’t really fated to spend forever with Tra’var and Damos.

  Anya didn’t believe in destiny. Sometimes things worked out and sometimes they didn’t. It wasn’t fate or luck. It was all just hard work, perseverance, and random acts of chaos. And in her particular case, a genetic anomaly led to the women of her family to make catastrophically bad relationship choices. Or maybe they were cursed. Her
mother believed it was the latter. Anya wasn’t sure. It was hard to justify believing in curses when she refused to believe in fate or luck, but some days it was hard to deny the possibility.

  She checked her messages while she drank her tea and waited for all her brain cells to make the transition to wakefulness. She had several notes from the local business group she belonged to discussing the weather and what it meant for business as well as two from Saral with extra tidbits of information and links to information on Vardarian mating rituals in the colony’s database.

  The link led to a whole section about it. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who had questions.

  She also had a vid message from her mom with a status update that included info on where she was off to next. Anya was relieved to hear that Hezza had added a few more stops to her itinerary and wouldn’t be back on Liberty until next month. That meant Anya had time to come to terms with her change in status before her mother returned to cause her own special brand of havoc.

  She saved the best for last—a vid message from Tra’var and Damos time stamped several hours ago. Veth. Were they morning beings? The universe wasn’t that cruel. Was it?

  Their handsome faces both appeared on the screen and she did her best to ignore the flutter deep in her belly. Just the sight of them made her pulse race as heat that had nothing to do with her tea flooded her body.

  “Hello, Anya. If you are agreeable, we would like to escort you to our home today and show you around our shop. In fact, we’d like to spend the day with you, at least until you need to attend to your own business.” Tra’var smiled. “I promise there will be food, too, and Damos has insisted I don’t try to cook you anything.”

  “You are never cooking for her. Or me,” Damos grumbled.

  Anya laughed and touched their faces on the screen. She really had it bad. Watching two men bicker and grumble should not be sexy, but it was.

  She watched the rest of the message and went to hit reply but then remembered she hadn’t done more than make tea yet this morning.