by Viki Storm
Orlon returns and motions for me to follow. He shows me up a flight of stairs and into a room. I realize now we’re in a dormitory, a place to rent a room for the night.
“We could have stayed in the Zalaryn Imperial Palace,” I say. “The accommodations are a lot nicer.”
“Negative,” he says. I scan the walls looking for the climate control panel. It’s freezing in here. I find it and crank the heat up.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again,” I say. I remember just this morning, waking up with Orlon in my bed. He kept his promise and didn’t try any funny business, but he did hold me close all night long. The warmth of his body, the strength of his arm as it wrapped around me—I drifted to sleep almost immediately, secure for the first time in ages knowing that nothing bad could happen to me if he was near.
My eyes flick to the bed in this rented room. Surely not as comfortable as the palace bed, but still. With Orlon next to me…
It’s like he can read my thoughts, because he throws back the blankets on the bed and sits down on the edge of the mattress. “Not true,” he says. “I will warm you up.” He grabs my wrists and pulls me onto his lap. I’m stunned by his brazen behavior, how he thinks he can just grab me like this, but when I sit down and feel his strong hands start to massage my arms, rub some heat into them, I decide I sort of like his brazen behavior. It feels almost natural to be sitting in his lap.
If I don’t think too much about it.
If I think about it, well, the situation is pretty much insane: an alien warrior steals me from the Trogii, insists that the Universe has ordained us to be together, then whisks me off to some secret icy location for a yet-unknown purpose.
But I don’t think about it—at least not too much. Because my brain isn’t really in control right now. It feels good to let him take care of me, protect me. Because that’s what he’s doing, I know that now. I’m not sure about the whole bonded mates thing (that might very well just be some alien superstition) but I’m sure that he’s earnest in his intentions. He’s had countless chances to use my body for his pleasure; he could have caged me, collared me, beaten me or sold me. But he’s been nothing but caring and protective.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“Waiting,” he says. “I have a contact who will meet us here. So for now, we can enjoy ourselves.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Enjoy ourselves?” I ask. “I’d enjoy a hot meal. Or a hot bath. Or a hot bed. A hot anything, really.” But the second I say that, I realize it was an invitation. Orlon puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls my face to his.
Our lips touch, and after the brief moment of shock wears off, my body takes over. I open my lips a fraction of an inch and feel his tongue politely seek out my own. He is restrained, but I can feel the tension and desire under the surface. I can sense it, his feverish lust, and something deep inside me is responding to it.
I kiss him back with a renewed sense of urgency, as if this might be our only chance at such an act. I slide my hands across his shoulders, feeling the ridges of his taut muscles, then settle my grip on his arms.
There is heat coming off him in waves, like when I stood by the radiant heat element in the entry foyer minutes before. The heat is infecting me, causing warmth in my low belly that is quickly spreading outward to the rest of my body.
But just as suddenly as this started, he pulls away. “Enough, female, unless you’re prepared to accept my genetic material. I can only resist so much temptation before my will breaks and the animal instinct inside me takes over completely.”
“As you wish,” I say. I’m sort of relieved that he stopped. He’s right. A minute longer and I would have been prepared to let him take me—fully. And who knows what would happen after that.
“Tell me then,” he says, gently moving me off of his lap. I sit next to him now, our legs touching. One thing’s for sure: I’m not cold anymore. “What do you know about your father’s rebellion?”
“The Three-Star Rebel group?” I ask. “They’re mostly involved in the blackmarket. Didn’t you say that Captain Lia was on Lekyo Prime? Why don’t you ask her?”
“Not the Three-Stars,” Orlon says. “His other rebellion, against the fleshtraders.”
My father’s other rebellion?
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I say. I didn’t see my father that much, but we talked occasionally on the vid-screen. He never mentioned anything about rebellion against the fleshtraders.
“His dying words,” Orlon begins. And that’s when it hits me. My father is dead. Actually dead. I feel the force of the tears and know it’s no use to try to hold them back. I let out a choked sob, and Orlon puts his arms around me again, saying nothing, letting me purge everything I’ve been holding inside since my mother was taken when I was a child.
It’s a long time, maybe only five or ten minutes by the clock’s reckoning, but an eternity by the reckoning of my heart.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Do not apologize,” he says. “Grief is natural. It must be expressed or else it decays the soul.”
“I know,” I say. “But that doesn’t make it feel any better.”
“Now that the worst of it is gone, you can start to heal. Like scooping out the infected flesh from a knife wound.”
“You have a way with words,” I say. I get up and go to the small bathroom, blow my nose and splash some water on my face. The water that comes from the tap is about two degrees above freezing, but it feels good.
“Before he died,” Orlon continues. He’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom. “Your father said that you were the key to everything. He said he was leading a covert rebel operation against the fleshtraders. He was amassing weapons and vehicles. Where is their base of operations? Who were the other operators?”
As I listen to him, I start to laugh.
Oh man, this is why Orlon took me?
I’m the key to everything? That’s why Orlon took me? At least he doesn’t seem to know about what I’ve done, my part in starting this war.
I laugh harder. Orlon is looking at me like I’m insane, and perhaps I am. Probably I am. Maybe the grief has cracked me, the tragedies of my life have compounded on one another and this is the final straw. And maybe when your sanity slips away, you have no idea. You just start laughing and people start looking at you with a concerned look in their eyes.
“You’re going to be disappointed,” I manage to say between bursts of laughter.
“You do not know the locations of the weaponry?” he asks. And the confusion on his face sobers me up for a moment. Orlon is nothing if not earnest. He has been honest and forthright the entire time I have been with him.
“My father…” I start. Then the laughter dies. There’s nothing funny about my father and what happened to our family. “I love him, and I’m sorry that he’s dead, but I am going to speak plainly. Forgive me, and do not think me callous or ungrateful.”
“Zalaryns have no patience for indirect euphemisms and niceties,” he reassures me.
“Good,” I say. “Because my father was a blowhard with delusions of grandeur. He thought he was some badass rebel, but the truth was he just couldn’t handle it when my mom was taken. Instead of raising me, he went off to play bandits in the Three-Star Rebel group instead of tending to his responsibilities like a grown man. And he justified it to himself, thinking he had righteousness on his side. He was fighting against the bastards who took his wife, so it was okay for him to forget that his daughter was still there, needing him.”
I feel the tears again, a thick wave of them about to pull me under, but I manage to fight them off this time.
“Continue,” Orlon says. I can tell that he is already starting to panic. Whatever plan he had to save Lekyo Prime is starting to crumble before his eyes.
“When I got old enough to take care of myself, he dumped me on some far-flung planet so he could be free to play bandits and wouldn’t be weighed down by havin
g to take care of me.”
“What are you telling me?” Orlon says. “Your father insisted that the Rulmek took you for blackmail. They feared his rebellion, his weapons, his soldiers. So they took you to hamstring his plans. They insisted on an exorbitant ransom that would bankrupt his operation. But he said you were the key. That you knew everything and could stop every fleshtrading race in the quadrant.”
“I don’t know how to translate it,” I say. “But did you understand the meaning of ‘blowhard’ when I said it before?”
“I get the gist of it,” he says, frown lines deepening between his eyebrows.
“Then I don’t know how to say it better than that. I’ll stick to the direct language that you Zalaryns value: my father was a fool, and I guarantee you that there are no weapons.”
This cold weather does not sit right with me. Then again, none of this sits right with me. The Guuklar have promised an invasion on the planet I’m sworn to defend, and I’m out here on Irrok, freezing my balls off, at a jec’h ranch.
This damned female is going to be my undoing. My body is crying out to bond with her, to irrevocably mate and stake my claim on her for the rest of eternity. It’s all I can think about. Not my duty, not the impending invasion, not getting my hands on some weapons or warriors that can help Lekyo Prime fend off the Guuklar. No. Suse is consuming all of my thoughts.
I’m a less effective warrior—and we haven’t even bonded properly yet.
But that means I’m just going to have to work twice as hard. I’m not going to let her distract me from my duty.
“What in the holy hell are those things?” she asks me.
“Jec’h,” I respond. Her face is barely peeking out from beneath the fur-lined hood that’s pulled up far over her face, but it’s plain that her eyes are full of wonder. I admit, these creatures are awe-inspiring to say the least—if I’m being honest, they scare me just a little.
They’re quite large. They’re quadrupeds, but their shoulders come up a few centimeters above my own head. When you take into consideration their necks and heads and their long, pivoting ears, the beasts are about three-and-a-half meters high. Their fur is long, the hairs thick and wiry, designed to protect against the icy climate. But that’s not what’s frightening about them. They’re not docile, domesticated livestock.
Jec’h are warriors.
Their legs are capped not with paws or hooves, but with one curved claw. They’re able to balance on it remarkably well, able to reach top running speeds far faster than a Zalaryn or human. The beasts possess an instinctual cunning; they’re constantly sharpening the claws on any available surface, keeping them deadly. They can unzip your guts with one apathetic swipe of the foreleg.
And if that doesn’t get you, the fangs will. Or the three horns protruding from the forehead.
Like I said, I’m not ashamed to admit that these things scare me.
“What do people do with them?” she asks.
“Fight mostly,” I say. “Imagine your foes charging towards you astride a herd of jec’h.”
“Bad for morale,” she says. “Bad for your underpants, if you want to keep them clean and urine-free.”
“That’s the truth,” I admit. “Once we faced a foe on the battlefield and the vanguard was outfitted on jec’h. Quite a few of my fellow warriors pissed themselves.”
“Were you one of them?” she asks, a smile sliding across her face.
“No,” I say, “but only because I had the foresight to void my bladder before the battle. Otherwise I would have. When these beasts run, they scream.”
“What happened in that battle?” she asks. Not one of my favorite memories. It’s a blur of the mingled screams of beast and warrior, the heat mirage and sweat, the metallic smell of blood.
“Nothing good,” I say. She gets the message and drops the subject.
“Orlon, that you?” a voice calls from the distance. Standing on the other side of the jec’h pen is Ghora, an old Zalaryn raider who, for some insane reason, decided to retire on Irrok when he was too old to raid.
I raise my hand in salute. “Fifty neus, my friend,” I call. I’ve done business with Ghora before. He has mercenary contacts, and more importantly, he has an ear for gossip and a talent for loosening the lips of those who know things.
“Save it,” he says, walking the length of the jec’h pen to get to us. “On Irrok everyone just greets each other by saying, ‘gor.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“No clue,” he says. “But it’s a lot faster than our stupid call and response greeting. What brings a hot-blooded bastard all the way out here?”
“Information,” I say. That’s only partially true. Mostly I’m hiding until I can figure out what to do with my mate. I need to keep her safe, need to keep her away from the Guuklar set to invade Lekyo Prime. It’s cowardly and I know it, but males will do dishonorable things for the safety of their mates or offspring. Look at Suse’s father. He betrayed his captain and friend in order to try and get his daughter back.
Mates are a liability—human ones even more so, since they’re not well-equipped to take care of themselves.
“I got plenty of that,” Ghora says. “And I’ll trade it freely, if you have information of your own to trade.”
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“First of all,” he says, “who’s this magnificent creature you’ve brought with?”
Despite the subzero temperature, my blood heats up at his words. Magnificent creature? Who the hell does this old, washed-up bastard think he is? I’m trembling with rage. The nerve of this jerk. He needs to be put in his place.
Luckily I have the wherewithal to know that what I’m feeling is a result of being in the presence of my mate, who I have not claimed as my own. After I claim her, after my seed is deep inside her, other males will know she is mine.
“This is Suse,” I say. “She is my mate.” How it kills me not to be able to reply my bonded mate. Suse shoots me an incredulous look, but I ignore it. She’s still fighting it, not allowing herself to become open to the possibility. But she will. When we kissed earlier, I felt her body yielding, softening. I could smell the sweet essence lubricating her entrance. Her body—down to her molecules—was responding to me even if her brain is still unused to the idea.
“Then you’re a lucky male,” he says. I know that Ghora is mated to another species, a Theyem if I remember correctly, but they are not bonded mates. “A bonded mate is a rare thing. I celebrate your union.”
“Thank you,” I say. Suse says nothing, but I can tell that she’s uncomfortable with all this talk of bonding. She still thinks it’s some alien superstition.
“What is it that you want to know?”
“What have you heard lately about the Rulmek?” I ask. Suse tenses at the mention of the Rulmek. I don’t blame her.
“Oh, plenty,” he says with a smile. A jec’h lopes over towards the fence. It looks friendly enough, but I know the truth. These things are fiends straight from the Void itself. To my horror, Suse sticks her hand through the fence and presents her palm for the beast to sniff.
My instinct rages and I grab her wrist, pulling her arm back. “You want to lose a finger?” I say to her.
“Blackie here is gentle as they come,” Ghora says.
“Which is to say as gentle as a pedipalpoid hiding inside your boot.”
“Nah,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “These animals are like any other warrior. Only truly dangerous when they’re in the throes of bloodlust. You could ride Blackie up and down the trail to the lake if you wanted.”
“Can I?” Suse says, her face lighting up at the idea.
“No,” I say immediately. This creature might sniff her hand gently enough, but once Suse was on its back, it would throw her and trample her with those sharp claw-feet just because it enjoys the scent of blood.
Suse looks at me with defiance blazing in her eyes. I get the feeling that the only rea
son she wants to ride one of these creatures is because I said no.
“I would like to ride him,” she says, addressing Ghora and not me. Ghora throws up his hands and takes a burlesque step backwards.
“This is between you two,” he says. “I’m not going to get between a fellow Zalaryn male and his mate. But the offer does stand.”
“Fine,” I say to her. “But after we talk.” Maybe after she watches the creatures for a little while, they’ll inspire a proper amount of fear in her.
“Goodie,” she says and claps her hands together in a way that’s so damned… adorable I can’t stand it.
“Back to business,” I say. “I need to know about the Rulmek.”
“I heard that some of your ilk pulled a pretty good one on their biggest warship.”
“That was Bantokk,” I say, though in truth I had a big part in that caper.
“Not what I heard,” he says. “I heard that some big-shot technical expert wrote an invasive lumbroid program so complicated that no one can figure out how it worked.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But there were only about a thousand Rulmek on that ship. A large contingent to be sure, but by no means all of those evil bastards.”
“Not by half,” he says. “The rest are pissed. Want revenge.”
“Are they planning anything?” I ask. “Anything specific? Or are they just sitting around wringing their scaly hands?”
“They’re in league with the Guuklar,” he says. “How’s that for specific?”
“I already knew that,” I say. Maybe it was a waste of time to come out here. “The Guuklar warlord, Tos, has pledged to invade Lekyo Prime and take back the human slaves that were liberated when Bantokk pulled his stunt on that big Rulmek warship.”
“I heard that, too,” he says. “But it’s not just Tos and a few of his cronies headed to Lekyo Prime. Tos made a purchase recently. A fission beam. And a ship to fly it.”
This isn’t good. A fission beam could take a chunk out of Lekyo Prime the way a child takes a bite out of a ripe, juicy ojji fruit.
“And the Rulmek are part of his invading force?” I ask. “How many?”
