Kissed by the Alien Mercenary

by Mina Carter

  Mostly, it worked. Lizzie and Jess wandered through the stalls, their owners more than happy to have two of the rare human females as customers. By the time they were halfway around, though, Lizzie was convinced they’d all taken the same sales courses as second-hand car dealers back home. She turned, a small ornament in her hand that looked like a strange, skinny penguin.

  Which was when all hell broke loose.

  Gunfire erupted around them, the air peppered with lasers and smoke. She screamed, and then Jess grabbed her, pulling her down to shelter behind an upturned stall. Her expression was tight but calm as she looked out. The market was in chaos, stall owners trying to gather up their wares or scrambling for cover as armed men poured into the market square. They attacked the imperial guards with a brutality that took Lizzie’s breath away.

  Lizzie jumped, stifling a scream as one of the guards was shot dead, falling lifeless to the packed dirt of the square right in front of them. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. His face was so peaceful, as though he was asleep, dreaming pleasant dreams… but the rapidly spreading pool of scarlet told a different story. Blood, her brain informed her numbly. He’d bled out in seconds, his life’s blood draining away into the dirt.

  “Lizzie, COME ON!” Jess yelled, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. “We need to get out of here.”

  They were on their own, all their guards killed, as they raced down side street after side street, the skirts of their gowns like banners behind them. Lizzie tried to keep up, holding onto Jess’s hand tightly. At least one of them seemed to know what they were doing.

  “Shhh,” Jess warned as she pulled Lizzie into the shadows of a deep doorway. She nodded, trying to keep the heavy rasp of her breathing down. Hell, lying in bed for so many months had really taken a toll on her fitness level. And she was surprised the hammering of her heart hadn’t announced their location better than a blinking neon sign.

  “I think we lost them,” Jess whispered softly after what seemed like an eternity.

  Before Lizzie could answer, there was a low chuckle from the darkness behind them. “Think again, little human.”

  And darkness descended in the form of rough, woven bags thrust over their heads.

  * * *

  The next hour of Lizzie’s life was a confusing, terrifying jumble of darkness, sounds and shoves that made her stumble in whatever direction their captors wanted her to go. All that kept her from losing it completely was the reassuring grip of Jess’s hand in hers. Whatever else happened, she knew one thing. She would keep hold of her sister’s hand no matter what.

  Finally, they stopped moving. Lizzie’s breath rasped, the rough fabric in front of her face moving. She daren’t say anything, drawing as close to Jess as she could. They weren’t alone in the room, that much she knew. Unable to see, her other senses had heightened. She could sense the two men behind her, smell their sweat and a slight herbaceous scent that must be the base for whatever they used to clean themselves. To keep herself calm, she set about trying to identify it—anything to avoid giving in to the panic clawing at her.

  A door opened in front of them, the creak of the old-style hinges unmistakable. That in itself should have told her they weren’t in the palace anymore. They both jumped at a sudden, low growl.

  “For draanth’s sake, I told you to pick up one female, you idiots!”

  There was a telling silence and she could almost see the two men behind them exchange glances.

  “Yeah, but which one?”

  Both women gasped as the bags were whipped up and off their heads. Lizzie blinked, squinting in pain as the sudden light assaulted her sensitive eyeballs. When she managed to focus, a warrior was standing in front of them.

  It was the warrior who had cornered her in the garden. She almost gasped in recognition but Jess’s hand tightened around hers warningly. Keeping a blank face, she just looked at him as he studied the two of them. She knew that look. They both did. It was the one they always got when someone was trying to work out which sister was which. It was also usually the clue for one of them to say their name, to give the confused party an easy out.

  Neither of them spoke. This asshole was getting no clues. At all. Ever.

  “Draanth!” Their captor looked over at the two men behind them. “One! The unclaimed one, I said! Make sure to get the unclaimed one! Do you know who…” He pointed at Jess, then Lizzie, and back again… “This is?”

  “No, Lord A’Raant!”

  A’Raant sighed, his expression the facial equivalent of a facepalm. “No names,” he groaned. “Not here.”

  Lizzie bit back her amusement. Didn’t look like things were going A’Raant’s way at all.

  “Which one of you is the lord healer’s mate?” he demanded.

  “Holy draanth!” The exclamation behind them was quickly smothered.

  Jess smiled and shook her head. “You are fucked.”

  “You are so fucked,” Lizzie added, joining in the game. Apart from their mom, Laarn, and—her heart ached—Saal, no one had ever been able to tell them apart. This A’Raant had no fucking chance.

  He seemed to realize this, looking at his inept henchmen. “Gather the men.”

  “How many do we need?”

  “For draanth’s sake,” A’Raant hissed, a purple flush rising up his neck. “You just kidnapped the lord healer’s mate. How many do you think? ALL OF THEM!”

  8

  His quarters on the Sprite were no larger than the single room in his lodgings at Malaac’s. At least he had a view, even if it was two inches high, and not one of a brick wall. And, another bonus, he wasn’t above the generator, so… blessed silence.

  He moved out of the doorway, heading to the bunk and opened his pack. Putting his stuff only took a few minutes. He didn’t have much. Once his personal weaponry was stowed in the trunk under the bed, he just had some clothes to go into the locker. Training and workout gear, some looser clothing for relaxing, and one old pullover.

  His hands lingered on it as he placed it on its own shelf. He’d arrived at the foundling home wearing it after his parents had died. It hadn’t fit him for years, but it was precious to him. He had no idea if his mother had made it herself or not, but he liked to think so and that her love had wrapped around him every time he’d worn it. He’d put such fancies away a long time ago, but he still couldn’t get rid of the thing.

  The last thing out of his pack was his tool roll. Barely looking at it, he dropped it on the desk opposite the bed. The last time he’d used it was to make the necklace for Lizzie. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever made.

  But there would be no more halls for him, either in healing or engineering. His life was here now ... with the Warborne.

  He sighed and turned, shoving a hand through his hair. Movement registered in the corner of his eye. Looking up, he discovered Beauty leaning in his open doorway, lips quirked in a slight smile.

  “It’s always claustrophobic at first,” he commented, his voice a lot more cultured than Saal expected as he indicated the room. “But you get used to it.”

  “How’d you know I found it claustrophobic?” Saal asked. Most warriors wouldn’t admit to such a weakness, but he’d spent the last year in the healer’s hall. He’d long since learned that fear didn’t make a person weak, it was how you dealt with it that mattered. And besides, he was more interested in how Beauty knew. Was he enhanced like Zero? And if so, were all the Warborne enhanced?

  The quirk at the corner of Beauty’s lips appeared and disappeared again. He gestured toward the door.

  “Open. It makes it easier to cope. I used to do the same thing.”

  The admission surprised Saal. Few would admit weakness to another. But, if they were going to be fighting together…

  “Boss said you needed new threads.” Beauty held out the bundle over his arm. It looked similar to the tactical gear the rest of the Warborne wore. “You’re broader through the shoulder, but these should fit you until we hit up resupply.
”

  “My thanks.” Saal took the clothing and shook it out. Then frowned. “Is it just me, or does this look very terran?”

  He hadn’t seen them himself, all the females at court dressed in latharian attire, but he’d viewed footage from the initial contact with the humans. Their warriors wore equipment that looked very similar.

  “I can neither confirm or deny that,” Beauty smirked again, tapping the side of his nose and turned to leave.

  “Hey… wait.”

  The other merc paused, looking over his shoulder. Saal motioned toward his short hair. “Anyone on board good with a pair of shears?”

  Ten minutes later, he found himself sat in the Sprite’s galley. Barely big enough for all of them, it was crammed in between the dual deck engine core and the gym. He suspected the latter was two storage bays knocked through into a single space. Possibly by Zero with that cybernetic arm. Dents in the bulkheads would support that theory.

  “I’m only getting my hair cut,” he said as the rest of the Warborne crowded into the room with them. Red and Skinny squeezed onto a bench, although to be fair, the big heavy-worlder would crowd anyone. Zero leaned against the counter by the food prep units, arms folded. Beauty was smirking in the corner next to Fin, who just grinned.

  “Not every day a warrior sheds his braids,” T’Raal, standing behind him, rumbled. “Sure about this, kid?”

  He took a deep breath and nodded. “Time to move on.”

  The clippers snapped on a second later, and pressure at the back of his neck forced him to look down. His hair fell on the metal floor in swathes like silk. He’d already removed his braids, so at least he didn’t see them scattered around him. For a male who’d dreamed of becoming war commander, it would have been too much. He closed his eyes as T’Raal clipped his hair short, only opening them when the clippers shut off.

  “Even more handsome.”

  He glanced up to see Red standing before him, hand extended. “Welcome to the team, Talent. Looking forward to working with you.”

  “Thank you.” He let her pull him to his feet. She was stronger than she appeared, no doubt down to her krynassis blood. “Glad to be here.”

  Zero was right behind her, his grip a hair off punishing. “Welcome to the dark side…”

  “If you start on about fucking cookies again, Zero, I’m tossing you out the airlock the next time we get spaceside,” T’Raal groused, then offered his own hand. “Welcome to the team, kid.”

  Saal grinned as Zero muttered under his breath and moved off. His hand would drop off after this, but he wouldn’t pass up a welcome he hadn’t expected. He’d thought it would take a while for the Warborne to accept him, perhaps a few battles and near-death experiences at least.

  “Good to have one normal person aboard,” Finn greeted him, then winked. “My cabin’s next to yours… just sayin’”

  Beauty rolled his eyes as he shook Saal’s hand last. “Ignore lover-boy there, he’ll crack onto anything with a pulse. Caught him trying to chat up a bot on Trenaxis Four the other month.”

  “Hey! It was a pleasure model!” Finn argued, flicking the bird at Beauty.

  “Yeah! Once. It was on garbage duty, and you were so drunk you were making eyes at its fucking reflection in a shop window!”

  Saal grinned at T’Raal, who sighed and shook his head, his expression all kinds of ‘see what trall I have to put up with?’

  “Okay, okay!” The Warborne leader announced. “Welcoming party’s over. We have a departure slot in less than an hour. Get your shit stowed and then report to duty stations. Dismissed.”

  * * *

  To borrow a human phrase… he’d fucked up, good and proper. He knew the phrase well. Mostly because Jess had yelled it at him repeatedly. For hours. He’d never seen his normally calm mate so furious. Well, except that time she’d blown up the main labs in the healer’s hall.

  But this was worse. Way worse. She’d told him he’d better “unfuck” the situation between Saal and Lizzie or, and he could quote, “he’d better get used to as much action as a fucking monk in the bedroom.” Since he was fairly sure that human monks were celibate, he assumed that meant she wouldn’t welcome him into her bed for a long time. As mad as she was… perhaps ever.

  Which was why he was in a run-down area of the city, keeping a hand ready for his blades while looking for the cheap lodging house listed as Saal’s place of residence on his personnel files. Finally, he found the place and strode through the front door into a small taproom. A grizzled warrior looked up from cleaning tables.

  “You the owner?” Laarn demanded.

  “I am Malaac. I own this place, yes.” The warrior drew himself up to his full height and nodded. “Who are you?”

  Laarn declined to answer and Malaac snorted, slapping his cleaning rag down on the next table.

  “Well, it’s obvious you ain’t here fer a room,” he groused and then nodded toward Laarn’s scars. “Guessing from them that you’d be looking fer Saal?”

  “I am.” Laarn nodded. He’d deliberately not worn his sash to avoid being recognized as lord healer, but there was no way he could conceal his scars. Nor would he want to. They were part of him, part of his identity.

  “Well, you’re too late,” Malaac said shortly. “Kid joined up with the Warborne. Left about an hour ago.”

  “Draanthing hell!”

  Laarn had certainly not expected that news. The Warborne were a legend in their own lifetime—the toughest mercenary unit in the galaxy. If Saal had left with them…

  “Yeah. Exactly,” Malaac said, looking Laarn up and down dismissively. “An’ you can tell that asshole lord healer of yours that he lost a good one there. Honest. Didn’t need shittin’ on like he was.”

  Laarn stood frozen, stunned by the verbal dressing down. No one had dared talk to him that way for years.

  “Do you know who I am, old-timer?” he asked, his voice dropping dangerously low.

  “Son, I don’t care if you’re the emperor ‘imself. Saal was a good kid… loved working at that hall. Loved one of them human females too.” He barked a laugh at Laarn’s expression. “Yeah, he thought I didn’t know. Youngsters these days. I had a mate. Loved her more than anything in this life. I know that look in a male’s eye.”

  Laarn looked at Malaac’s wrists. One was concealed by a well-worn bracer but, sure enough, faded mating marks wrapped around the skin of the other.

  “Lost her in the plague, like everyone else,” Malaac commented, his voice low. “But humans don’t get the plague, so the kid didn’t need to lose his female. No, you assholes did that fer ‘im. And drove ‘im out.”

  Laarn felt sick. Malaac was right. He’d done this.

  He’d known something was going on between Lizzie and Saal but he hadn’t been able to see past the warrior’s lower caste. Hadn’t wanted a J’Qess in his family group. But Lizzie’s heartbroken sobs when she’d thought Saal had abandoned her had damned near broken his heart.

  “The Warborne, you say?” he asked over his shoulder, already turning to go.

  “Aye. But you’ll not get there in time to stop them taking off now… unless you run,” Malaac said, walking toward the door. “Take the alley behind the Litaan Axes,” he pointed out an inn halfway down the street. “That’s the quickest way.”

  Laarn nodded. “My thanks.”

  Malaac grinned a gap-toothed grin. “You’re welcome, my lord.”

  A bark of laughter escaped Laarn as he set off the way Malaac had indicated. The wily old-timer had known who he was all along.

  * * *

  He made it to the spaceport just as the Warborne ship’s engines began to cycle for take-off.

  “Stop that ship on imperial orders!” he bellowed, pointing toward the mercenary ship as he stalked toward it. Port staff scrambled to obey his orders and within seconds the engines cycled down. The boarding hatch disengaged with a clunk, a huge Lathar storming down the ramp as it descended.

  “What the FUCK is goin
g on?” he demanded, roaring over the sound of the engines. “We had launch authorization!” His furious gaze latched on to Laarn, now flanked by port officers. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Lord Healer,” Laarn replied, his voice clipped. He knew T’Raal and the Warborne’s reputation, but he was in no mood to mess about. “You have one of my staff on board and I want him back.”

  T’Raal folded his arms over his massive chest, looking down at Laarn. A lesser male might have been intimidated, but Laarn had K’Saan blood running through his veins. He bowed to no one, apart from his uncle and even then as little as he could.

  The big mercenary nodded and shouted over his shoulder. “Hey, Talent! Get your ass out here. Someone wants to talk to you.”

  He looked back at Laarn. “I didn’t seen any indenture brands on him so if he doesn’t want to come with you, we’re leaving with him. Even if we have to fight our way out.”

  Laarn nodded. “Seems fair. I have no claim on him. He’s a free male.”

  His bracer buzzed and he tore his attention from the mercenary leader for a moment to check the notification. As he read, his blood ran cold.

  “You wanted to see me?” He looked up to find Saal in front of him, standing next to T’Raal, and his expression was just as forbidding. He was dressed as a mercenary, his leathers replaced by combat pants and a tactical vest. And his hair was cut short, all his honor braids gone. He was no longer a warrior. He had made that choice to be apart from them.

  With surprise, Laarn realized that the Warborne were outfitted very similarly to the Terran forces he’d met. Yet to Laarn’s knowledge, none of the mercenary units had been anywhere near human-held space. Laarn flicked a glance over Saal’s weaponry. He was outfitted for war.

  “Come on,” he said. “Some draanthic kidnapped Jessica and Lizzie. We need to get them back.”