by Mina Carter
The crowd of warriors winced as Seren tore the rest of the covering away, throwing it outside the circle so it wasn’t in the way. The full length of his replacement arm was revealed, blackened metal molded and shaped into a perfectly anatomical mirror of his other arm. A small smile crossed his lips as he beckoned to the B’Kaar again.
Saait, obviously enraged that he couldn’t land a hit on Seren despite the fact that he was in his kasivar and Seren was just flesh and blood, roared. This time he didn’t charge. Instead, he de-suited in a smooth move that left Seren facing not one, but two opponents—Saait and his suit.
“Hey! No Fair!” Gracie bellowed, but no one was listening. Seren merely altered his stance as the two opponents circled him.
“I think K’Vass is capable of dealing with more than two opponents,” Berr commented dryly, sliding a glance sideways at Nyek. “I had not expected to see both a Vesh and a Vorr in the same company. It seems the K’Vass bear watching these days.”
Since the warriors were talking in riddles again, she kept her attention on the fight. If, indeed, she’d ever been able to look away. This was Seren, and her breath caught in her throat, every muscle in her body urging her to pile into the fight to cover his back. Only the fact that Indra hadn’t relaxed her hold for a second kept her in place. No way could the former ganger know what she was or suspect that she knew at least nine ways to break her hold, four of them lethal… but it was like the woman had a sixth sense or something.
Then it happened. Saait and his suit moved into position and she snarled, instantly realizing that Seren had no way out of the trap the B’Kaar had just maneuvered him into.
A smile of triumph on his face, Saait roared and attacked. She read the movements of the fight before they happened. Seren would slide either to the left or the right to avoid Saait’s attack, which would leave his back open to attack from the armored suit the B’Kaar was piloting remotely through his freaky internal wiring. It would wrap Seren up and crush him in its deadly metal embrace. Saait’s victory was already assured, the rest of the B’Kaar roaring in celebration.
Saait swung, but Seren wasn’t there. He moved faster than she’d seen him move before, but not with the little slipstream movement he’d used before. Instead, he dropped and spun around, charging toward the suit.
Leaping in the air, he flipped over it, driving something small and metallic right between the armored plates over the power cell near the neck. The suit jerked to a halt, Saait’s expression full of surprise. Seren’s face was grim as he dropped behind the suit, looping his metal arm around it to tear through the front like it was aluminum foil.
Saait screamed and dropped to his knees, his ke’lath flaring brightly through his skin.
“The sneaky piece of trall,” Berr said. “He’s using neural feedback to disable the suit.”
“What did you expect? As you said, he is Vorr.” Nyek lifted an eyebrow, his lips quirking as Seren yanked free his weapon and kicked the still-twitching suit onto the floor. “And they are nothing if not adaptable.”
He walked toward them, twirling it in his black metal fingers.
“Well, would you look at that…” Indra chuckled. “Turns out the fork is mightier than the alien tank suit.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
Gracie shrugged Indra’s hold off as Seren approached, her tone shrill. Her heart still pounded in her chest at the danger he’d put himself in. Willingly. Which was ridiculous when she could easily take care of herself.
His face was neutral and calm, his gaze intent on her face.
“Why? Did you wish to become a B’Kaar’s mate?” He half turned to look at his fallen opponent, currently being carried off for medical attention with his suit on an anti-grav unit behind him, still sparking slightly. “That B’Kaar’s mate?”
He turned. His opinion of the fallen male’s abilities was evident in the slight curl of his lip. “I had thought you a more sensible female than that.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me that the program had listed you as my mate?”
The rest of their group melted away, leaving them to it, but she didn’t pay them any mind. Her attention was fully focused on the tall, handsome but frustrating as fuck Latharian warrior in front of her.
She was used to operating undercover and without backup, but that had been on human colonies, among members of her own species, which she understood inside out and back to front. She was good at her job. She knew, often with a clairvoyant level of awareness, exactly what people around her were going to do before they did it. The talent had saved her life more times than she could count. That and the ability to get down and dirty in the violence stakes if she needed to.
But aliens… the Lathar were different. No amount of psychological training could have prepared her to deal with a species with a completely different cultural background and moral makeup.
Seren had been the one constant since she’d been picked up by the Lathar from that colony after the alien octopus from hell had attacked. Still shaken, he had been the first alien to offer her his hand, drawing her to her feet and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. Since then, he’d been at her side like a shadow. Until recently.
After the S’Vaan attack, he’d been not colder but more distant. They’d gone from the point she’d been sure he was about to ask her to accept his claim to acting more like a bodyguard.
She didn’t know how to feel about that. Sure, she was a badass who’d seen action in some of the most hellish places in the human systems, but dammit, sometimes even a badass needed someone to lean on. The tall, stoic alien warrior had become that for her—a rock to lean on. Now it turned out the rock was an entirely different shape than she’d expected.
“And what the hell is a Vorr?” she demanded. “And a tovashian?”
That got a response. His face tightened and he grabbed her by the upper arm, hustling her out of the training room. They ended up in one of the smaller side corridors that was obviously unused and still not back at optimal function. Half the lights didn’t work, flickering on and off, and dust still lay on the floor. The weird alien dust clung to her boots as the door closed behind them.
“Where did you hear that word?” he demanded, his face still tight. Anger flashed in his eyes and for a second all her instincts went on alert.
She’d never seen him so angry before. Fury rolled off him in waves, his shoulders tight, and all she wanted to do was step closer to press herself against him and soothe him, even though all her very well-developed survival instincts yelled at her to run. Get away. Put distance between her and the suddenly extremely dangerous-looking alien warrior.
She backed up, her weight lightly on the balls of her feet and her frame loose, ready to fight if need be.
“Tovashian? You did. You said you were my tovashian?”
His strange eyes clocked the movement, assessing her, and then he sighed and relaxed.
“Apologies, my lady,” he rumbled, shoving that black metal hand through his hair. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
She shook her head but didn’t approach, still watching him as she concealed her wariness. Working undercover meant she’d gotten used to hiding her true feelings. And working undercover while being undercover for the colony commission only doubled that. “I’m not frightened. But you just took on an asshole wearing a tank. Forgive me for being a little wary… especially when I find out you’ve been lying to me.”
His head snapped up, his piercing gaze pinning her. “I have not lied. I am a male of honor. We do not lie.”
“You didn’t tell me we’d been matched.”
“I did not lie about that,” he argued, taking a step forward. “We just have not discussed the matter.”
She unbent enough to stick her hands on her hips and fix him with a hard look. “A lie of omission is still a lie.”
He shook his head
. “That makes no sense. We have not discussed many matters. Would that mean I have lied about them all? How could we possibly discuss every subject? I am no G’Tath. I cannot speak with authority on every matter.”
“Not on every matter, that would be ridiculous. But you should have let me know we’d been genetically matched,” she said, tilting her head back to hold his gaze as he stepped closer.
A little below average height for a woman, she had gotten used to looking up, but Seren was Lathar. They were built on much bigger lines than humanity so she had to look up even further. It made her feel small and delicate… feminine.
She shoved those feelings to the back of her mind. She had never been delicate. Not only had she gone to hell and back, often with a rifle in her hand, but she could kick ass with the baddest of the bad.
“Why?” he demanded, crowding her suddenly.
“Why? Why?” Slamming a hand into the center of his chest, she glared up into his annoyingly handsome face. “Why do you fucking think?”
He shot a hand out, covering hers on his chest. “I have no idea. Would it have made a difference?”
“My god, you Lathar are so… impossible!” She shook her head, staring at him in disbelief as she tried to yank her hand away.
He held on, his grip like iron, pressing her palm against the center of his chest. She could feel the strong beat of his heart under her hand and had to suppress the temptation to move closer. To press up against him. What the fuck was wrong with her? She was mad at him, for mercy’s sake, and she wanted to stay mad, not jump his fucking bones… even if he was her perfect match. Genetically speaking, of course.
“Would knowing we are compatible have altered your decision if I asked you to be my mate?” he demanded, the lines around his mouth tightening.
“I don’t know,” she hissed up at him. “Since you haven’t seen fit to even ask me!”
His hand shot out to grip the back of her neck, holding her in place. “Answer me,” he ordered, his voice a soft command. “Would my genetics have made a difference? Would that mean more to you than who I am?”
The rawness in his voice told her she was missing something, but finding out what was less important than the pain she saw flare to life in the back of his eyes. Reaching up, she wrapped her hand around his wrist, touching him. Hard metal met her fingers and she flinched, surprised by the unfamiliar sensation.
Anger... or anguish... or something... filled his eyes, his lip curling back. The hand on the back of her neck tightened and he yanked her against him. She hit his broad chest, her breath stalling as he bent his head, his mouth crashing down over hers.
Heat hit her, overwhelming her as they kissed. His lips were hard and demanding, angry and passionate at the same time. She didn’t do angry kisses, and she’d long ago learned how to deal with guys who manhandled her. But she didn’t shove him away as she normally would and dump him on his ass. Instead, all thought deserted her. She pressed closer, parting her lips with a soft moan of surrender.
He growled and thrust his tongue past her lips to ravage the softer recesses of her mouth. His metal hand, capable of crushing her neck with just a flex of his fingers, slid upward to drive into her hair. He gripped a fistful as he took what he wanted from her. She didn’t stop him, her free hand sliding up his metal arm to the side of his neck. At the soft touch of her fingers, he yanked his mouth from hers and glared down at her.
His eyes glittered.
“I’m Vorr,” he growled. “We don’t ask. We take.”
4
Her lips parted softly at his growled announcement, her eyes so wide and dark it was all he could do not to back her up against the wall and plunder them again. About to do just that, he paused when she shook her head, an odd expression passing through her eyes.
“Take?” she hissed, shoving at his chest. He didn’t move, her strength no match for his. Instead, he just curled his free arm around her, holding her close until she worked her temper out. “Does that line work often, you asshole?”
Okay. She was annoyed with him. He’d expected that for his lie of omission. Since meeting her, he’d quickly worked out Gracie liked to know all the details. About everything. Even things that weren’t relevant to the situation. It was distracting and wasted time. He didn’t understand it. But then, he didn’t understand a lot about human females.
Rather than answer, he growled and gripped her hair tighter. For all her struggles and spitting like a deearin kitten, no fear entered her scent. That pleased him. He was Vorr, so most beings were scared of him.
But no fear shone in the backs of Gracie’s eyes and her hand was still gentle on his shoulder and neck rather than clawing to get away. The brush of her soft fingers against his skin distracted him beyond measure. All he could think about was her lips and tasting them again.
“Don’t even think about it,” she snarled as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Then she bared her little teeth at him, snapping them together in threat.
He fought back the smile. So tiny and delicate compared to him, he doubted she could even break the skin. He bared his own teeth, revealing the sharper fangs of his Vorr heritage. Usually he kept them hidden, like so much about his bloodline.
The Vorr were not well-liked. They were too much a reminder of the Lathar’s wilder past, and now there were only a handful of them with true blood. If she knew everything about him, about the Vorr, she’d never accept him as a mate. No, far better she think him imperial and never find out the truth.
He gentled his hold to slide his hand through the glorious fall of her hair. The color of fire and burnished copper, he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
“Oh? Are you sure about that, kelarris?” he murmured, dropping his voice to a soft rumble. He’d noticed her reaction to his voice before and now shamelessly used that knowledge to his advantage. Lathar he might be, but he was also Vorr, and could be as ruthless as any of his blood when it suited him. And she liked his kisses. He had felt her reaction, that flare of heat and passion before she’d remembered to be mad at him.
For saying that humanity were supposed to be descended from the Lathar, they seemed to have taken a sharp left turn somewhere—particularly the females. They were nothing like the stories his father had told of mild-mannered and graceful females who calmed and soothed their males. But...
He didn’t want that. He didn’t want a calm and soothing female who never argued back and had no personality of her own. He wanted a female with fire and passion.
He wanted Gracie. The flame-haired, argumentative human was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more. But he wanted her to want him for him, not because of his genetics. Not because of his name. For him.
A wash of uncertainty hit hard and fast. Shame filled him from the bone marrow through, even down to the ends of his metal fingers. He claimed to be a Vorr but he hadn’t been able to protect her. The S’Vaan had taken her, but another warrior, the paladin, had rescued her. He hadn’t been able to do even that, nor take his vengeance.
His display against the B’Kaar earlier had been pointless—an ego-fueled sham. No female would accept a mate who had already proven he couldn’t protect her.
“Warrior K’Vass,” a deep voice broke over the base comms, the speaker somewhere above their head crackling into life. He froze, recognizing the growled tones of the emperor’s champion, General Xaandril M’rln, de-facto commander of all the Latharian forces aboard the base. “Attend me. Immediately. Bring your female.”
Gracie gasped, her ire directed at the absent champion. “I am not your female. Why does everyone keep thinking that?” she hissed, shoving at his chest again.
He held on to her for a moment longer, just to prove he could. “Because of this,” he murmured, leaning down to run his lips against the side of her neck. She murmured, a gasp of denial in the back of her throat, but her body softened as she relaxed enough to lean into him.
He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling, and then straightened up as he let her
go. “Come on, female. The general awaits.”
Seren had kissed her.
Gracie’s lips still tingled as the alien warrior tugged her along behind him while they made their way through the base to the general’s office, his hand clamped around her wrist like a manacle.
“No, kelarris. I won’t be long here,” a deep, male voice said as they approached the open door of the general’s office, the intimate tone of his voice making them both slow down. The door shouldn’t be open. A maintenance team further down the corridor were working on the control point for all the doors along here. The sound of a deep voice emanating from within made it clear the general was talking to his mate. “Just long enough for the reinforcements to arrive and then I can come home to you. Okay, my love. I will see you soon…”
Gracie kicked her heels, looking up at Seren as they tried not to listen in on the big, gruff champion’s sweet nothings to his mate, still back on the Keran’vuis. Seren studied the corridor behind them. His gaze narrowed on the B’Kaar as they worked.
“You don’t trust them. Do you?” she asked in a low voice, moving closer so their voices couldn’t be picked up by the internal sensors and, hence, every B’Kaar jacked into the system. Which meant… all of them.
Seren slid an arm around her waist, shaking his head.
“Why?”
She leaned into him, aware that any of the B’Kaar looking at them, either with their natural eyes or through the sensors, would see the intimate movement and assume they were a couple. Even though a part of her railed against being called Seren’s female without him having actually asked her, she had to admit, it was a decent ruse. Even better, it had a proven track record. If the B’Kaar thought a female had already been claimed, they left her alone.
She looked up at Seren, squashing the temptation to run her fingers against his lightly stubbled jaw as she took the opportunity to study him. And it was a situation of better the devil, or in this case, Lathar, you knew. Tall, dark and handsome, his dark hair, somewhere between black and the blue of a raven’s wing, fell loosely around his shoulders, the entire left side braided close to his scalp so the plaits fell down his back. Her fingers itched to touch, to see if his hair was soft or as strong as the light blue strands that matched the cerulean chaos of his eyes woven through it like steel fibers.
