by Bex McLynn
She pressed her hands to her mouth as if she could contain her anxious mirth. "Everyone is so calm about this. Really, no one cares I'm an alien?"
Ah, she had missed the finer point.
"We built our civilization on the artifacts of an alien race. The Teras Dominion acquired everything from the Athelasans. Technology. Territory. Genetics. Alien exposure occurs daily."
She rewarded him with a shy smile, partially hidden by her hand. "God, those voices terrified me. I thought I was losing my mind."
"No, you are not."
He watched her retreat into her thoughts, warm eyes glistening as her mind whirled.
"Okay. What's next?" she asked, sounding tired and worn.
To bed with you. He'd see her to bed, personally. Draw the blankets over her lush body as he settled down next to her.
Zver saw no reason to lie to himself. Lekar, though, was best left in the dark. His medicmaster would preen with false hope if he had access to Zver's hungry thoughts. If the universe gave even the slightest shit about him, sex with her would not only be possible, but fucking exhilarating. Her backside had cushioned him, bumped and rubbed his cock as she had struggled in his arms. However, he was no longer a cock-driven bastard. Not since Rannik had been born. His priorities had changed.
Yes, he wanted her. He just didn't want her in the way that mattered most to House Borac—not as an honored Athela who would elevate the prestige of his house. House Borac had gone a generation without an Athela. His grandmother had been the last one to reside in their Athel Hall. He felt no need to change this, not even for a chance to wet his cock with a living fantasy. He could shelter her without bracing with her.
And as long as House Borac sheltered her, no other house would have her either.
"What is next?" His growing arousal graveled his voice. "After you rest, you'll be presented to the Athela Trine."
The Trine would see to her basic training. Something needed despite her insistence that she wasn't technopathic and her desire to return to her own world.
"Rest," she said bitterly. "I'd need quiet first. Your ship keeps insisting I want access."
This explained her agitated state. She had no shielding.
"Easily rectified." Zver sent a mental command to Deleo's AI.
Within seconds, Seph softened. Her rigid posture melted and her expression soothed.
She rolled her neck and her hair tumbled along her shoulders. Individual curls snagged on fibers of the robe, pulled taut, then sprung free, and recoiled into shiny springs. Gods, her hair underscored all her movements. Haloed her in otherworldly allure.
She let out a low, decadent moan that pulled his eyes to her lips and rushed blood to his cock.
"Thank you." She smiled at him. "What did you do?"
What did he do? He eased her, and since he couldn't have her braced over him, his cock thrusting into her as she moaned with release, he did what he could.
"Gave you access to the mess hall menu," he said as he pushed to his feet. He gestured to the bunk. "Rest now. You're safe here."
"Thank you," she said softly.
He gave her a brisk nod, mentally assigned a security team to her room, and walked out. Once in the corridor, he stood guard by her door until his guards relieved him.
Chapter Five
In the early hours of the morning, Zver sat at the conference table in Deleo's officer ready room, courteously giving his outward attention to the dual Cuneiform screens. His inward attention focused on his hand as he opened and closed his fist, envisioning a mass of curls in his grip.
Elder Vedma, projected on one of the Cuneiform screens, closed her eyes in fervent prayer.
"Blessed Direis," she said beseechingly. "Grant me the ability to slap people over the AthNet. Especially Thane Jahat. He annoys the shit outta me." She opened her eyes and said sternly, "Her clutch stands."
Fucking hell. He should have killed Grondin.
Last night, when he collected Rannik and discovered Seph, Zver had stayed behind on Prykimis for a reason. Grondin.
He laid into that piece of shit with his fists. No one touched his house. Yet no matter how hard he beat Grondin, that bastard continued to cackle, almost drunk on the pain, and insisted that Rannik was sworn to clutch. Clutch with an Apinazeru. Grondin was an ass. The Apinazeru had curled hair, but it grew like a halo about their heads, never gaining any length so that it tumbled softly over their shoulders.
Grondin obviously reported the entire incident to Thane Jahat. Gods know why, Thane Jahat passed that report to the Trine, but whatever he had hoped to gain now backfired. Trine Elder Vedma dug her claws into the technicality of the claim and refused to let go.
The Trine officially recognized Rannik as a member of Seph's clutch.
"Now, listen here, Elder Vedma," snarled Thane Jahat from the other Cuneiform screen. His face appeared puffy and blue, so much like Grondin’s. In fact, all of Thane Jahat's sons strongly resembled him. Last Zver heard, Thane Jahat had a dozen sons, yet none of his sons inherited Jahat's grandmother's technopathic genetics. "The woman, she didn't know what she was doing. If I'd had the chance to explain things to her—make it clear that she was already under House Jahat's protection—she wouldn't have formed a clutch with a damn cadet."
Vedma just cackled. "She ain't in your house, period. Even you'd need to clutch for a claim."
Clutch. Unholde's Cudgel, his son leaped from purchasing his first sexbot into his first clutch. Zver's anger and frustration bloomed, and he exhaled icy vapor. His emotions ran too cold, risking an outburst. His gaze slid to Grondin.
The bastard sat across from him and shifted in his seat, grimacing with each breath. Good. That meant Zver had broken at least one of his ribs. Even better, the hundreds of cases of scrubber's lung meant Lekar wouldn't treat Grondin's non-life-threatening injuries.
"No one's certain about her Athelline." Grondin winced as he spoke, his split lip bleeding. "But the law clearly states she's harbored by the house that found her."
"And that would be House Borac," Vedma said testily. "You know, the more you two argue, the more Thane Borac wins, and he hasn't said shit in over an hour."
Zver tipped his head respectfully toward Vedma. She was correct. In regard to Seph, nothing would be decided until Vedma and the other members of the Athela Trine arrived. He hated to repeat himself, so he remained silent. Thane Jahat, on the other hand, tiresomely reviewed the pertinent information, determined to spin a new angle.
Was Seph something other than Teras? Lekar was certain of it, though the genetic markers of a technopath puzzled everyone. No other species of the Tendex—Apinazeru or Kraai or Gwyretti—ever displayed abilities for mentally interacting with Athelasan technology. Scholars taught that only the Teras could breed with the Athelasans, thus a percentage of the population, predominantly women, were technopathic.
Was she aligned with an Athelline? Vedma promised to cross-reference the Athela Academe records, but Zver didn't see the point. A house would not have let her loose, to be mishandled by a Gwyretti trader, to be mistaken for a Lassie. Inconceivable.
Was she a refugee harbored by House Jahat on Prykimis? On this point, Zver ignored all arguments. As he saw it, Prykimis herself was stranded, making all her crew and passengers refugees harbored by House Borac.
Prykimis. With the Trine solidifying House Borac as Seph's protector, his thoughts turned back to the spirenought. He still wanted the ship.
His inspection crews had worked through the night. Prykimis's preliminary diagnosis was bleak. The TerTac systems—TTS—that had been patched onto the Athelasan systems were shit. Thane Jahat had them installed decades ago and lacked the funds to maintain them.
Zver needed authorization to repair Prykimis, not just inspect the ship and declare her unfit. He knew if his house shouldered costs and provided the labor, then he'd strengthen his position to seize stewardship from House Jahat.
And he now had a very good reason to begin restoring Prykimis.
He had called Seph an Athela, regardless if she was one or not, because Thane Jahat needed to think of her as such.
Thane Jahat eyed him suspiciously. "Why would you do that, Borac?"
Because he promised to see her home, so in the long-term, no house would have her. But in the meantime, she made a very good distraction.
"Because the Athel Hall is the best accommodation," Zver said as he mentally sent a report through the AthNet to all parties. "The inspection team identified repairs that would need to be made to Prykimis, for the good of the Athela. This report lists the priority repairs—guaranteeing the Athela's safety and comfort."
Grondin snarled, "We can't trust the Thanemonger."
Thane Jahat spoke over his son. "House Borac will see to the repairs."
Zver let Thane Jahat's poor attempt at issuing a demand roll over him. With that snide decree, Thane Jahat passed the entirety of the repairs onto Zver's house—the parts, the labor, the cost. Zver suppressed his triumphant grin.
"Indeed," he said readily. "The Athela and her clutch and a modest house entourage will return to Prykimis."
Thane Jahat, appearing somewhat mollified, raised a staying hand. "My house will provide escort."
"If you wish to escort the entourage, I have no objection." As long as Rannik remained part of her clutch, she'd have a House Borac guard detail.
"She needs to expand her clutch, then." Thane Jahat directed this to Vedma. "Prykimis's officers are able to join."
Vedma cackled again and said, "Can't force her clutch, Thane Jahat."
"You can. You can direct her to add more men."
"If my turds were like your brain cells, I'd never shit again," Vedma said flatly. "I'll say this nice and slow. You can't force a clutch. No one can. The woman chooses."
"But this situation is unusual. Surely you can agree with that, Elder Vedma," Thane Jahat said.
"Eh." Vedma waved her hand dismissively. "I've seen worse."
"The Trine can advise the Athela once they are here," Zver said while he stood. His part in the conversation had ended. He nodded to his cachemaster. "Furiero will make the arrangements for your arrival, Elder Vedma."
"I'm coming as well, Borac," Thane Jahat said.
Zver had expected as much. "Furiero will be in touch." He turned to Vedma's screen and bowed. "Elder. Safe travels."
"Thane," she said, that ever-present sarcastic cackle in her voice.
Zver exited the room, his security chief and medicmaster flanking him.
Ochrona, his security chief, tapped away on his WristCune. "I've assembled an eight-man team, all vets. Four on, four off."
"Very good. I want Wies as captain." Yes, he mixed specialties—the assault team with security—but he wanted Wies's surly yet grounded demeanor on hand to defuse any tension with Prykimis's officers.
"Just as an aside, Thane," Lekar said, his tone mild. "I have declared that entire ship medically hazardous to inhabit."
"The engineers are almost done with the scrubbers. Then they'll move on to other critical repairs. I'm sure you'll give Prykimis an improved rating within a few days."
"She'll go from a deathtrap to an unsprung trap. Congratulations on your team's astounding accomplishment."
Lekar made a good point. He sent off a request to his weaponsmaster. "I'll have Seph fitted for a full TacArmor kit."
Lekar sighed. "How thoughtful. She'll essentially be living in combat armor. Very appropriate."
Actually, encasing Seph in combat armor felt appropriate. Since he planned to return her to the ship, he would protect her.
"Seph returning to Prykimis green-lit repairs, Lekar," Zver said, his patience with Lekar's skepticism waning. "That means better conditions for all your new patients."
Lekar grumbled, yielding to his point.
"Assign a medic to her entourage," Zver said.
"I will," Lekar mumbled, probably unhappy because that would leave him a man short. To Ochrona, he said, "Don't worry, Chief. All my medics can fire a weapon."
"Aye, Medicmaster," Chief Ochrona said. "The Athela is our priority principal."
"So we're just calling her an Athela now, without verification? Without taking into consideration what that means for her?" Lekar asked.
Zver held his tongue, biting back his first retort. The woman masqueraded as a Lassie, a delusional way to protect herself. This time—even if it was still a masquerade—she would be protected by layers. Social customs. Teras Law. A guard unit. Personal armor. He intended to use her to get what he wanted, but he refused to have her exposed and possibly injured during the process.
"It's for her own protection," Zver said. "The men must know she's untouchable. Let the Trine work out the rest."
For the first time in weeks, Seph woke up in a comfortable bed. A private lavatory, with a shower, awaited her. A clean bundle of clothes and correctly-sized boots sat on the desk. She knew that the mess hall served eggs and cured meat for another hour.
Shelter. Clothing. Food. All freely given.
She turned her face into the pillow and sobbed. Her body ached with her misery. She hadn't dreamed of Xander. No sleeping imaginings of her ten-year-old son crying as he searched their small apartment. She had slept peacefully through the night.
Three long weeks. Surely their neighbor, Mrs. Allen, would have heard him crying. Surely school would have called her parents, who were Xander's emergency contacts. Hell, this time, she would have been grateful that the police were called. Just as long as Xander wasn't left alone.
The sheets smelled like sage, yet she couldn't recall the scent of Xander's hair. Memories of his laugh sounded tinny and hollow. His chuckle no more than a whisper, Cheese and Mac-a-Mommy.
A heavy fist pounded on the door.
She gasped and rubbed her eyes. Could feel snot smeared on the back of her hand.
She cleared her throat. "Who is it?"
"Thane Borac."
Oh god, of course it was him. Of course he would come while she cried.
But another thought hit her like a lightning strike. Last night, he mentioned nothing about getting her home. But it was a new day. Perhaps he had something to tell her. Some way to help her find Earth.
"I'm coming!" She called out, kicking free of the blanket. "Just a moment—"
The door swished opened and the thane strode into the room.
"Shit!" she cried.
Seph crouched awkwardly—half in, half out of the bed—without any clothes on.
She popped to her feet, yanking desperately on the blanket. Thank god she had untucked the corners last night; if not, it would have been a sad tug-of-war with her bunk.
"God, you're impatient!" Seph wrapped the blanket round, her hands white-knuckling the fabric.
She glared up at the thane, but her outrage fled at the sight of him. The colossal man stood rooted like a damn tree in the middle of the room. His nostrils flared and his green-gold eyes swirled as he stared at her. The muscles in his jaw and neck flexed as he swallowed. His gaze rose up her body, settling on her hair. His huge hands curled into fists as he rocked back onto his heels.
Her cheeks prickled, already hot from crying, but she still felt another rush of blood to her face. Floundering, she shook her head, feeling her hair brush her back and shoulders.
She made a grab for the clothes on the desk. "Just give me—"
Suddenly he was there, chilled hands cupping her cheeks and tilting her face upward. He studied her, eyes narrowing and mouth pulled tight.
"You're crying," he said as if speaking aloud confirmed what he saw. "Who hurt you?"
With her hands gripping the blanket, she tried to step back. Not that he frightened her. The thane overwhelmed her like a cresting wave.
But he didn't let her retreat. He slid closer, shoulders bunching as he bent over her. His hands glided over her cheeks, sinking his fingertips into her hair, his
touch gentle, yet firm. His palms cooled her heated cheeks.
"Who hurt you?"
"No one," she said, feeling as if an entire ocean crashed over her. "I just—I had a moment. That's all. I'm fine."
He seemed dissatisfied with that answer. Dipping his face to her, he assessed her from a new angle. "A moment?"
"I miss home."
He gave her a small nod, along with one of his grunt-hums. Indeed.
"I need to get home."
Another grunt-hum, and she felt the rumble through the palms of his hands.
"So I had a moment. Thinking about home. Wishing I was there."
"House Borac has promised to see you home."
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "Rannik promised me."
"House Borac will see it done." The entire time he spoke, he stayed focused on her. His eyes lingered on individual features, like her lips or ears, as if trying to memorize how she appeared. "I am Teras. I am Borac."
She caught her breath. You have me. But he said nothing else.
"I know," she said, somehow feeling that she was now the one doing the soothing. "I'm fine now."
What she said was true. The thane's promise bolstered her.
He frowned and swept his thumbs over her wet cheeks. "You didn't cry yesterday. You laughed."
She sniffled and gave a small laugh. "Yeah, I prefer laughing to crying."
He hummed and massaged her scalp, flexing fingers that had one more knuckle joint than a human.
Seph sniffled again, but her nose leaked beyond capacity. "My nose. I need to—"
He gently disengaged, sidestepping away from the lavatory door.
"Thanks," she muttered.
With his hands gone, she dropped her gaze to the floor. She snagged the pile of clothes and shuffled into the lavatory. When the door clicked softly behind her, she simply stood, not sure what to do.
Dear god, no one had ever handled her like that. Not when her brother had been killed. Not when her son had been born. No one took the time to cradle her and soothe away her sadness and fear. Instead, after her brother's death, they accused her of acting out. That her pregnancy was a ploy to get attention—to become popular in school. That she dishonored the memory of Xander's father, who had died in the same car crash as her brother.
