by Mina Carter
“She is… you are,” Laarn confirmed, smiling at Lizzie as he moved to the side to make room for his mate. He wrapped an arm automatically around her waist, pulling her up against his side with a soft look down at her that completely transformed his rather severe features. Lizzie looked away, a pang of jealousy spearing her heart. She wanted that… wanted a man to look at her that way.
Saal had looked at her like that, a little voice piped up in the back of her head. He had looked at her like she was the sun and stars all rolled into one. Pity it had all been a lie—an act to get her into bed.
“The sleeping sickness?” she asked, bringing her mind back to more important matters than asshole lying aliens. “Is it gone? Am I cured?”
Laarn smiled and nodded. “It appeared to be some kind of long-running viral infection attacking your central nervous system. You’ll need a few more treatments and to ensure you get enough rest over the next couple of weeks but you should be fine.”
She nodded, feeling relief at the news. At least she could go to sleep now without wondering if she was going to wake up in the morning, or to find months had passed.
“Thank you, Laarn. I appreciate it.” She added a smile. “Does that mean I can go home soon.”
“Home?” Jess asked in shock. “Why would you want to go home?”
Lizzie shrugged. She couldn’t tell them the real reason she wanted to get away from Lathar Prime. Yeah, I fell for a lying charmer of a warrior who just wanted a notch on his bedpost and got my heart broken in the process.
“My life is back on Earth. College…”
“Lizzie, please. We just got you back.” Jess hurried to her bedside, her expression so filled with pain and concern Lizzie felt guilty for even mentioning it. “And Mom is here as well. There’s no one on Earth to look after you—”
“I can look after myself,” she said with a smile, patting Jess’s hand. “Honest.”
Laarn cleared his throat, an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Lady Lizzie, but you can’t go back to Earth.”
Her hackles went up instantly. “Oh? And why not?”
“A couple of reasons.” He pressed a button and the display around her snapped off. “The least important is that you have a unique marker in your DNA. It’s one that all Lathar and most of humanity are missing.”
“And?” She frowned as she watched him shut down the machine. She didn’t see why a DNA marker would stop her from going home.
Laarn pulled a stool over and sat down next to her bed. His expression was open and honest, the consummate professional.
“We originally thought it was just you and your sister, but it seems all Kallson women have it, which means there are only four beings we know of with this unique sequence. And it’s the only thing between both our species and extinction through plague. Believe me when I say you and your family are the most important women in the entire galaxy.”
“Wow. Okay.” She managed a small laugh. “You sure know how to take the wind out of a girl’s sails.”
“But that’s the least important reason. To us anyway,” Laarn continued, eyeing her with the same mixture of concern as on Jess’s face. “You still need treatment. I wouldn’t be happy about releasing you from my care for at least a couple of months yet. I’ve seen the utter draanthing disaster human medical care is, and the health and wellbeing of my… our family is my primary concern.”
Lizzie bit her lower lip, biting back tears. Seriously, what was wrong with her? Women got their hearts broken all the time. She was nothing special. She just needed to put the big girl panties on and get on with it.
“Yeah?” She couldn’t help challenging her sister’s mate. Divert the pain into anger, and all that. “What if I wanted to settle down with a warrior here who didn’t meet your expectations?”
For a moment confusion shadowed Laarn’s eyes, but then, almost so quickly she nearly missed it, a flash of guilt. It was gone in the blink of an eye.
“You can choose any warrior you like. Can’t she, Laarn?” Jess said with a smile, but she caught the tension between the two of them. “Okay, what don’t I know?”
Lizzie folded her arms and looked at her alien brother-in-law.
“Saal J’Qess.” Laarn sighed. “He was paying too much attention to Lizzie for my liking?”
Jess couldn’t hide her delight as she rounded on her sister. “Really? What do you think of him, Lizzie?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Laarn doesn’t need to worry about him any more either. He got what he wanted and I haven’t heard from him since. Typical, huh?”
To her horror, her voice cracked, tears escaping down her cheeks.
“Oh, Lizzie,” Jess murmured, reaching out and pulling her into a tight embrace. It was too much. Lizzie’s defenses cracked and she broke down in sobs, the wretched cries giving voice to her heartbreak.
7
The Triple Goddess was packed, which was nothing less than Saal had expected with the Warborne in residence. Pretty much every fanboy in the city was crowded into the taproom to listen to tales of the mercenary unit’s exploits or even just to share the same air they breathed. For the upper castes, Daaynal the emperor was the ultimate warrior, but realists like Saal knew any male from the lower castes could never hope to reach such heights.
Instead, the Warborne and other mercenary crews were their heroes. Anyone could join a team, provided they had the skills. Saal definitely had the skills. Not only had he been born mean, but he was an experienced warrior who’d been training at court for the best part of the last year. That meant he was a whole lot meaner and more dangerous now.
He didn’t need to say any of that, though, as he shouldered his way through the crowded room to the front. Instead, he let the well-used but well-cared-for appearance of his personal weaponry and multitude of honor braids do the talking for him. Males who turned when he bumped into them by accident, hyped up on ale and ready to brawl at the slightest provocation, suddenly backed down and became very solicitous as they allowed him to pass. He kept his smile to himself. There was no honor in doling out beatings to males he knew had no hope against him.
His internal amusement faded as he found a stool near the front. If all went well, from this point onward he wouldn’t need his braids. His life would no longer be about honor. That was the point of him being here. To leave it all behind, to leave Liz— Deliberately, he cut the thought off. He didn’t need the pain thinking about her would bring. He needed to be focused on his own life. To move on.
Frowning to himself, he idly scratched a wrist as he studied the Warborne. Five of them were present although the numbers changed with injuries and deaths. They were commanded by a huge Lathar called T’Raal and if Saal didn’t know better, he’d swear the male was Izaean. He certainly had the massive build of a berserker, the muscles in his shoulders and arms bunching as he arm-wrestled the biggest Krynassis Saal had ever seen.
His eyes narrowed. There was no way the male was just a Krynassis, though. The lizard men, while as large as the Lathar, usually didn’t pack as much muscle and something was going on with the bone structure around his brow and jaw. Probably some kind of hybrid, he concluded, his attention moving on.
Likewise, an interspecies hybrid was the only way to explain the female in the group. Tall and slender, with masses of fiery red hair, the slight hint of scales around her cheekbones and the hiss to her laughter as she spoke with the mercenary sitting next to her said Krynassis but she was female. There was no way the lizards would have let a full-blooded female go. They were too rare and valuable as brood mares. No, she had to be a half breed, no doubt sired by a pack of randy lizards on some poor unfortunate female on a backwater planet somewhere.
“So… what’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”
The deep voice caught Saal’s attention the moment before a warrior dropped into the seat next to him. He found himself speared by eyes so pale he might as well have been looking into a snowstorm. White ha
ir was twisted into a thick ridge on top of his head to flow down the center of his back, the sides shaved to the scalp. Saal sucked a breath in, instantly recognizing one of the rarest types of Lathar.
“I could ask the same. What’s a Navarrian doing with the Warborne?” he threw back, not quite a challenge but enough that the mercenary knew he wasn’t a pushover. Dressed as the male was, in combats and tactical gear, there was no way he wasn’t with the Warborne. Not with the aura of danger and lethal grace that clung to him like a second skin. “Thought you guys preferred the deep ocean.”
“Looks and brains. I can see I’m gonna have to watch you,” the mercenary grinned and offered a small wink. “Usually we do. But I like my continued existence and the ability to breathe too much to set foot on my home world for the foreseeable future.”
He pulled his shirt aside with a grin.
“You were outcast?” Saal’s eyes widened at the brand. The brand didn’t surprise him as much as the multitude of dark lines it had destroyed. He might not know much about the Navarr, other than they were an offshoot of the Lathar who had split from the main species so long ago that not much was known about them. But he did know that only those of royal blood had their skin marked in such a manner.
“Oi, fin-boy, stop chatting up the local talent and come tell Skinny he’s an idiot,” the female Warborne shouted across the crowded space.
“Fin-boy?” Saal asked in confusion as his new companion sighed and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think the Navarr had fins.”
“We don’t.” The mercenary smiled and levered himself to his feet. Standing, he was a lot taller than Saal with a lean, rangy build that screamed speed and power. “But this lot think they’re funny. First thing you need to know about the Warborne is you don’t get to pick your name. They do. Fin,” he introduced himself. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Surprise filled Saal as Fin motioned for him to follow as he strode across the room to the table the mercenary group were sitting at. Four pairs of eyes swept over him in rapid-fire assessment as he wondered what the hells was happening. Sure, he’d come here to beg an audience and to ask for a chance to try out for the Warborne, but he hadn’t expected to be singled out so quickly, or even at all.
“Would you look at the braids on that one!” The female whistled, leaning back on her stool, elbows against the table behind her as she gave Saal an appreciative look. Her previous argument with the Lathar next to her, a heavy-worlder by the looks of him, was seemingly forgotten. “How about you come sit down next to me, Talent.”
“Be careful of Red,” Fin leaned closer to warn in a low voice. “She’ll eat you for fucking breakfast.”
“Hey! Talent here is more a breakfast, lunch and dinner, so fuck you! You know you’re not allowed to keep prospects to yourself. He’s just jealous,” Red winked at Saal. “He only made breakfast before I kicked him out.”
“Prospect?” Saal choked, deciding to ignore the rest of the conversation. Obviously Red and Fin had history—one he did not want to get in the middle of. Suddenly, though, he found himself the focus of attention of all four mercenaries.
“Well,” T’Raal said, his voice a deep growl. “A male comes in here dressed like that…” He nodded toward Saal’s leather and weapons. “Then he’s looking to get hired or get fucked. If it’s the first…”
He kicked out the stool opposite him and nodded toward it. “Then take a seat. If it’s the second I’ll leave you to the dynamic duo’s tender mercies. But don’t blame me if you end up getting tag-teamed.”
Saal looked at Fin and Red.
“No offense, guys,” he said and took the seat. Looking at T’Raal, he nodded. “So how do I sign on?”
* * *
He was Warborne.
Saal shook his head, unable to believe it as he stood on the landing pad in front of the Warborne’s ugly ship. Unlike the sleek elegance of latharian vessels, it was squat and blocky but was still lethal. It was black, with thick armor plating and bristling with cannon arrays. There was no mistaking that it was built for war.
“You gonna stand there and drool all day Talent, or planning on coming aboard?”
Looking up, he found Red, the female mercenary, watching him from the boarding ramp. She sat on the edge, one leg dangling and a field gun in pieces in front of her.
“Is that name going to stick then?”
A smile on his face, he walked toward her, his pack slung over a shoulder. Her movements were swift and precise, betraying the ease of long practice as she cleaned the dismantled gun, her attention on him instead of what she was doing. Given the complexity of that weapon, if she was half as accurate firing it as she was handling it, the rest of the universe needed to watch out.
She squinted at him and chuckled, the edge of the sound sibilant. “Yeah, I reckon it will. Be thankful, there are worse names to be saddled with.”
“I guess so.”
Before she could say anything else, the towering figure that appeared at the top of the ramp stole his attention. T’Raal. He folded his arms over his chest, pale gaze flicking over Saal’s clothing and equipment. He’d made sure to remove any latharian insignia, the sash of his former position abandoned back at Malaac’s, but he still wore his combat leathers. He didn’t have anything else.
Sure enough, T’Raal nodded toward them. “We need to that lot sorted. Don’t want you wandering around like a reject from a BDSM club. What do you think we are… Latharian warriors?”
Saal raised an eyebrow, following the warborne leader as he headed back inside the ship.
“Welcome aboard the Sprite,” T’Raal said as they strode through the corridors. Compared to the latharian vessels Saal had served on, the Sprite was tiny and cramped, both of them forced to bend their heads to avoid hitting the bulkheads at each intersection. The walls and floors were metal, the non-slip mesh allowing a view of the crawlspace.
“Personal quarters run both sides of the ship,” T’Raal motioned to the doors they passed, most closed. The last door near the end of the corridor was open. A glance through it showed a sizable bunk and storage locker on one side, with a desk and shelves bolted to the wall the other. A tiny viewport let in the light above the bed.
“This is you,” T’Raal grunted. “Drop your kit and follow me.”
Saal did as he was told, dropping his single pack onto the bunk before following T’Raal. The door at the end of the corridor opened out on the bridge, the occupants turning as they entered.
“Red’s outside and Fin you know,” T’Raal rumbled, nodding toward the tall Navarr. He grinned and waved from his position at the ops console behind the pilot’s seat.
“…Skinny you also met.”
The heavy-worlder raised his hand, face set in implacable lines as he studied the screen in front of him. That left two males Saal had never met.
“Beauty,” T’Raal nodded to a tall, slender male at the weapons station. A shock of inky hair was cut short into his neck, heavy stubble over his jaw. Like the others, he wore tactical gear. He didn’t have a family resemblance to any of the major clans. Had to have been from a backwater clan before he’d joined the warborne.
“And Zero.”
A big male unfolded himself from the pilot’s chair, but his size wasn’t what drew Saal’s attention. That honor went to his arm. Having worked in the healer’s hall, he was no stranger to replacement limbs, but where latharian replacements were designed to blend in with the body and be unnoticeable, Zero’s arm made no pretense. Metal from his shoulder blade right to his fingers, the limb had armor plate and fixing points down its length.
“Hey Talent, been hearing a lot about you. How’s it hanging?” With a grin, he offered his hand, eyebrow arched.
Saal studied the hand for a moment. Was this a test? He reached out and took the cyborg’s hand, shaking firmly. The metal was warm to the touch. Curious.
“Well met, Zero… all of you. Thank you for offering me a place on your crew.”
Zero grinned. “Believe me, you got my vote right away.”
“Oh?” Saal’s brow winged up.
“You’re from the healer’s hall,” the big cyborg explained. “Which means you know far more than me about healing… so you get to deal with these knuckleheads when they decide they’re fucking invincible.”
He clapped a hand on Saal’s shoulder as he passed, leaning in to stage-whisper. “And watch Red, she’s the worst of the lot.”
* * *
“You know,” Jess said conversationally as they climbed out of the high-tech flyer that seemed to be the Latharian equivalent of a car. “I still can’t get over how… normal everything seems. You know? Like if you just took a quick glance you could be forgiven for thinking this was Earth someplace…”
Lizzie dragged her eyes away from the six-legged dog and gave a little nod. “Other than the two suns and the fact everything is XXL?” she asked, managing a small grin.
It was all for her twin’s benefit. Both Jess and Laarn had been treating her with kid gloves after her little breakdown earlier, and she hadn’t missed the worried looks her sister was giving her when she thought Lizzie wasn’t looking.
“Well, yeah, apart from that.” Jess conceded with a smile, linking her arm with Lizzie’s as they walked toward the hustle and bustle of the market.
Jess had suggested the outing to cheer her up. It was a valid plan. So far she hadn’t seen much of Lathar Prime apart from the healer’s hall and the palace.
Even so, she couldn’t stop her hand lifting absently to the pendant around her neck. She should take it off really. It was just a cheap bit of tat. He probably hadn’t even made it himself… just told her that to get her into bed. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to. Jess caught the motion but didn’t mention it, even though Lizzie knew she wanted to.
“Hey, do you think Mom would like something like that?” she asked, nodding toward a nearby stall filled with delicately carved hair combs. The sisters flitted closer. As befit their status as members of the Imperial Family, they were accompanied by palace guards, grim-faced warriors surrounding them to ensure no one bothered their little shopping trip.
