Fenix: A ScifFi Alien Warrior Romance (Stolen Warriors Book 3)

by Ella Maven

  Fenix

  Stolen Warriors Series

  Ella Maven

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Ella Maven

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Copyedited by Del’s Diabolical Editing

  Cover design by Natasha Snow

  First edition: February 2021

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Ella Maven

  Prologue

  Fenix

  I tried to cling to the deep voice. It sounded different than the one that kept me company in my head. This one was lower, softer. It didn’t scream at me over the pain.

  But the hands… I couldn’t take the touch. Every time the heavy weight settled on my arm or shoulder, I cringed away and retreated further into the downy furs.

  Time passed in a weird haze where I’d think I was back in the mines, but then I’d wake up facing a metal wall and that deep voice was there again. Sometimes I’d catch glimpses of white hair. One time my eyes focused on a blue face with a heavy brow. Something about it was familiar.

  “Don’t leave me,” I whispered.

  “I won’t.” The blue lips moved, but the sound was delayed. “We’ll get you back, Fenix. I promise.”

  I formed the name with a hesitant tongue.

  Fenix.

  Later, more voices filled the room.

  “They said you’re the best healer in this hemisphere. What can you do for him?”

  “I don’t know Drixonian anatomy, I—” a loud crash sounded, and the voice continued, shaking. “I-I can try to ease his pain.”

  “Then do it.”

  Shuffling followed the order, and then something prodded my lips. I opened my mouth as a bitter flavor exploded on my tongue. The furious heat abated, and I slipped into the first non-fitful sleep I could remember.

  When I woke again, the room was dark. I lay curled on my side and sitting in a chair near a window was a white-haired warrior. My brain was sluggish, but a few things were clearer than they’d been in many cycles. I was a Drixonian, and so was the warrior watching over me.

  Slowly, his head turned, and violet eyes met mine. His widened before he pushed the chair next to where I lay so he could sit closer. Grabbing a canteen of qua, he held it to my lips so I could drink greedily to wash the bitter taste out of my mouth.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked.

  I could feel a dull ache somewhere in my bones, but the piercing, debilitating pain was absent. “Not right now.”

  He sighed and place the canteen back on the floor. “Hungry?”

  My hand drifted to my stomach. “Not really. Where am I?”

  “Sadly, still on Vixlicin, but at least you aren’t in the mines.” He bowed his head. “I can’t believe the conditions you were in. Do you remember?”

  “Sort of. The memory is hazy. I can’t…” I winced. “My mind isn’t right.”

  He snorted. “Join the club.”

  “What?”

  He reached for me but thought better of it last minute. “I’m Rexor. You’re safe with me. We’ll take care of each other; how does that sound?”

  I glanced at my hands which were a scarred and twisted mass of melted scales. “Fleck.”

  Rexor reached for a pile of fabric and handed it to me. “You don’t have to wear these, but they might provide some protection for your hands.”

  Sitting up, I pulled one glove on and flexed my hands. My orange hair flopped in my face and I blinked it out of my eyes. “You’re probably wondering what happened to me. I’m not… I’m not like you.” I flexed the palm of my ungloved hand, and a small flame flickered to life. I waited for the shock or disgust to cross his face, but he only glanced at the flame before meeting my eyes.

  “No,” he sighed. “You’re not.” Clenching his jaw, he exhaled roughly. A creaking and a fluttering followed as a pair of large white wings stretched behind him. He flapped them once as blood dripped to the floor.

  My mouth dropped opened. “What?”

  “Our enemies gave you fire, and they gave me wings and an anger problem.” He gripped my neck, and only a small flare of pain followed his touch. Bringing our foreheads together, he said softly. “You have any plans? How does revenge sound?”

  For the first time in as long as I could remember, a smile stretched across my face. “Revenge sounds great.”

  One

  Fenix

  Every time I entered the market of Glint, a part of me died. Food was doled out with a tight fist by the Rogastix scum which ruled this town through fear and intimidation. The residents didn’t have many other options—this was a desert planet after all.

  In Glint, there weren’t many Pliken guards—the species that took by force and colonized the planet Vixlicin. The Rogastix paid them to look the other way while they filled their coffers and their bellies on the backs of the working class of the village.

  But the worst part was I wasn’t much better. I wasn’t doing a flecking thing to help anyone here, because I could barely help myself. Only adding to their problem, I contributed to the wealth of the Rogastix. With every step I took, the sabers tied to my belt rattled. That was the only payment the Rogastix took—Pliken sabers I had stolen from Pliken guards. And I had to pay. Because I needed what the Rogastix sold. I needed it even though it was killing me.

  My skin itched, and I resisted scratching at it under the heavy hooded cloak. Any other village, and my blue skin would alert the guards, but not here.

  Zecri walked next to me, because he refused to let me come alone, and that made me even more ashamed. He never complained, and his gaze constantly scanned the crowd for threats.

  Vendors shouted at us to buy their wares, and the smell of smoked meat hung in the air. We walked by a jewelry stand, and the seller’s son—a small chit—reached for me with a beaded necklace. “Just your color, warrior!” he shouted.

  I dodged his hand only to brush the entire side of my body against Zecri. Air left my lungs in a rush as pain flared up my body like flames. Stumbling, I gasped as my eyes watered while I fought to get myself under control.

  “Fenix,” Zecri murmured. “I’m sorry—”

  “Not your fault,” I groaned. “Tried to avoid the chit … not your fault.”

  His hand hovered in the air between us, his jaw tight. He wanted to comfort me with his touch, but that would only cause me more pain which he knew. His breath hitched and his eyes darkened with anger before he dropped his hand. “Can you walk?”

  “I’m fine.” The pain was receding. “Let’s keep going.”

  I was grateful Zecri remained at my side. Once, it’d been four of us on this planet—the castoffs from our enemies failed experiments to turn us into super soldiers. Drixonian warriors were known to be close
and loyal to each other, but the four of us were unique. No one had been through what we’d been through.

  Rexor had been sold as a gladiator and forced to fight in an arena until he killed his owner and fled. Mikko had been thrown in the Pit with the planet’s criminals to rot, except he’d escaped. I’d been kept in the mines for fifty cycles, alone, as no guards would come near me. I’d nearly gone insane in the solitude with nothing to focus on but the work and the pain. And Zecri … he’d been sold to a pleasure house and still carried the mental and physical scars of his enslavement.

  Together, we’d escaped and banded together to live on this planet and extract revenge on the Plikens. Until we were called to a higher mission. Both Rexor and Fenix had found human females and left the planet to keep them safe. Zecri and I wished every day they both had been successful. I liked to think they were on a lush planet right now, happy and healthy. Because if not, why did Fatas put them through all she had?

  Zecri and I remained behind, the more damaged of the crew. I was chained to this planet by the invisible bonds of my Kixx addiction, and Zecri because of some personal mission he’d never divulged. He’d promised Mikko he’d never leave me, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to return that favor. What would end me first—my dangerous mission taking out Plikens, or the addiction I never wanted?

  Once we were through the main section of the market, the crowd thinned. We walked past small buildings with chits playing out front between rows of drying, patchworked clothes. The food smell was rancid here, and vermin squeaked as they fought for scraps.

  We came to our destination quickly at a nondescript building. A sign over the door marked it as a former racco shop where Plikens dried and assembled the popular sticks to smoke. That was before Bezmir took it over and inflated the prices of racco to line his own pockets.

  I stopped outside the door and gazed at the sign before turning to Zecri. He stood with his back against the wall, observant gaze constantly taking in our surroundings. Zecri could have stayed on our home base, a crashed spaceship hidden in the red desert sands. But instead, he was here with me. “Thank you for coming.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  I exhaled as the smell of the place turned my stomach. “Maybe… maybe this will be it. The last supply I get.”

  Zecri’s gaze cut to me. “And then what?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. I’d been there before, delirious with the chronic pain which was the result of the Uldani’s wicked experiments on my body. I’d nearly lost my mind in the mines, and even now my short-term memory was shet.

  But the Kixx was slowly destroying my body. Even now, I had trouble keeping food down, and sometimes my heart sped up so fast I swore it would burst in my chest. So, how did I want to go? By losing my mind or destroying my body?

  Zecri stepped as close to me as he dared. “I’ll support you in whatever you decide.”

  I wasn’t sure why I’d brought this up today. Denial had been working for many cycles. No sense in messing with what worked. I shook my head. “Never mind. I’m just talking.” I grinned at him, trying to lighten the mood. “You just want to be rid of me. I’m always talking in your ear and annoying you.”

  His eyes crinkled, and he let out the sound that was as close to a laugh as he usually got. “I’d miss your annoying voice.”

  Leaving Zecri standing outside, I opened the door to a haze of smoke and the sizzling of cooking meat.

  Bezmir, a Rogastix with a head of sleek white hair and adorned with heavy jewelry, sat at a table in the center with his loyal crew—Rogastix like him. At his feet, a grukel lifted its head and peeled back his teeth to growl at me. Normally, a grukel wouldn’t scare me, but Bezmir’s loyal pet was double the size of a normal one, with six massive, clawed paws, two rows of sharp teeth, and a barbed tail nearly as thick as mine.

  “Quiet, Frix,” Bezmir said without looking up from the game of stones they were playing. “Can’t have you scaring away my most loyal customer.” He glanced up at me then, yellow eyes taking me in from head to toe.

  I didn’t take off my hood. There were a few others in the shop I didn’t recognize, and my orange hair was too distinctive to reveal. The Plikens had a massive bounty on my head. Visiting Bezmir’s shop was the only time I dared stay in a Vixlicin village for long.

  “Come, Drix,” Bezmir said. “You have my payment?”

  Stepping forward, I drew the sabers from my cloak and dropped them in the center of their table. Stones went flying, disrupting their game, and a glass of some smelly brew spilled on the floor.

  Bezmir sniffed. “That wasn’t nice.”

  I didn’t want to make conversation, not with him. “Where’s my supply?”

  He sighed and flicked his fingers to one of his crew, a bald Rogastix with a frayed coat. “Fifty jogs.”

  “Fifty?” I balled my fists. “I brought you two sabers. That’s enough for two hundred. At least.”

  Bezmir’s yellow eyes bored into mine. “The price increased.”

  Anxiety pounded through my blood. “Why?”

  “I’m having some trouble with my shipments. Until that’s resolved, this is the best I can do.”

  “Fifty jogs will barely last me—”

  “Is that my problem?” he snapped at me.

  Fleck, I almost ripped my gloves off and blasted him right there, but I was out of Kixx, and I wouldn’t find another supplier in time. I hated him. I hated my body. I hated I was lonely. Touch and comfort were a distant memory.

  The crew member returned with the familiar green packet of Kixx, but before I could reach for it, Bezmir snatched it away.

  He held it carefully in his hand, rubbing the waxy paper. “But there might be an agreement we can come to.” He eyed me, and I waited impatiently. “I have something that needs delivered in exchange for a massive quantity of Kixx that will keep you and the rest of my customers happy for many, many cycles.”

  Bezmir stood, and Frix rose at his side. “But this delivery is special. It needs protection because others will try to steal it. If you deliver this cargo and exchange it for my supply, I’ll give you a quarter of it. Almost a million jogs. How long would that last you, Drix?”

  A long time. Maybe forever. But what was this cargo? “What do I have to do?”

  He squinted at me, and then his thin lips twisted into a cruel smile.

  “You’re a Drixonian, so you’re bound to protect females, right?”

  Suddenly, all thoughts of Kixx fled and the fire in my veins cooled. A distant rattling reached my ears, and that was when I detected it—a distinct breathing pattern I recognized now.

  My cora pounded as Bezmir stepped over to a small, fabric-covered box. Sound rushed through my ears as he lifted the tattered brown edge to reveal metal bars. My knees nearly buckled when he flicked the fabric away with a flourish to reveal a metal cage. Inside that cage, a rusty chain around her slim ankle, was a pale-skinned human female.

  Anger bubbled and roiled in my gut, and the need to set this entire place on fire simmered in the skin under my palms. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her head down with long, straight black hair hanging down her back and around her face.

  I knew she was human though. From her delicate hands and small feet to the discolored skin of her knees from what the humans called bruises.

  She didn’t look up. She didn’t move at all, and I would have been concerned she wasn’t alive if it wasn’t for the rise and fall of her back and the distinct sound of raspy breathing.

  “…do you think, Drix?” Bezmir was saying, unaware how close he was to going up in flames. “Get a little of your precious dignity back and do what you’re good at.”

  He kicked the cage, and I jerked. The female startled, lifted her head, and the world fell away around me as I stared at the most perfect face I’d ever seen in my life. Deep brown eyes, a petite nose, and a small mouth with full pursed lips. Skin as smooth as a chit’s cheek.

  Bezmir kicked the
cage again, and the little human jerked back away from the bars as far as she could. Unbidden, a low rumble left my throat.

  “You’re in luck, girl,” he told her in his smoke-filled voice. “This Drix is addicted to Kixx, but he’s the best thing I got to make sure you make it to the exchange point.”

  The human’s brown gaze drifted to me, and she studied me carefully. Silently. I felt like the ground was moving beneath my feet. Here, in a cage, sat something so precious.

  “So, what do you say?” Bezmir asked me. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  I clenched my jaw as I took in the chain around her ankle. The skin there was red and raw. She had to be in pain. “Are you injured?” I asked her.

  For a moment, she regarded me carefully before shaking her head.

  I needed to know about her. I needed to know her. “What’s your name?”

  She flinched, like the question hurt, and I felt my muscles go tight.

  Bezmir let out a raspy laugh. “That’s the best part about her. She doesn’t make a sound.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “What do you mean?”

  “When we arrived, she caught the rath virus. Her flesh broke out into a red rash and she felt like fire. We thought she died, but then she woke up one day.”

  The rath virus was nasty, although not usually fatal to most of the species on this planet. I hadn’t thought about a human contracting it. “What does that have to do with her making sounds?”

  Bezmir tapped his own throat. “The rath affected her voice. Poor thing can’t speak a word.”