Chapter Twenty-Eight
Six weeks later…
“Magnify, Captain Dayne?”
“And enhance,” he agreed, nodding his head to the nav-com technician. “We all get a bit emotional seeing home after years away, Maggie.”
“Thank you,” she whispered as the screen zoomed in on North America.
Roth slipped his arms around her from behind. “Is it as you remember it, little one?”
Worried eyes rose to his. “Sadly, no. It looks bluer.”
“That’s bad?” Dayne wanted to know.
“It’s not good. We’d have to ask one of the scientists to run an analysis to be sure, but our planet has polar ice caps which have been steadily shrinking, due to the rise in our ocean temperatures.”
“They are melting,” Roth observed, his brows gathered as he, too, stared at what, from their vantage point, was a beautiful blue and green world with swirling white clouds.
“Yes, which means that sea level is also rising. Global land mass is decreasing, and when I left, we were having record-setting flooding. Other severe weather disasters have been occurring: mudslides, tsunamis, earthquakes, from other ways we have been unkind to and careless with the place we call home.”
Discerning the sadness in her voice, he pulled her back against him, providing silent support.
“See that wide circular cloud formation with the eye in the center?” she asked. “We call that a hurricane. They form over the ocean and can be catastrophic with destructive winds exceeding 150 mph, high waves, and widespread flooding which can wipe out residential and commercial structures. Other dangers include downed trees, lightning, and tornadoes.”
“These are common now because of the rising oceans?” Dayne questioned further.
“More and more so, although that’s not what has me worried.”
“What does, mate?” Roth murmured.
“The storms rise out of the Tropics, which is a section in the middle of the globe with year-round warm temperatures. When they travel north and hit the cooler waters, they usually weaken and dissipate.”
“What makes this one different?”
“This one isn’t doing that and it’s early February.”
They glanced at one another then back at her, both shaking their heads, not understanding.
“It’s the middle of winter. It should be snowing, with temperatures dipping down to near freezing in the mid-south. I’ve never heard of a hurricane this far north in the dead of winter, which can only mean one thing.”
“It’s much warmer than when you left,” Roth concluded.
“Yes, but it shouldn’t be happening this quickly. We should have years, perhaps decades. This isn’t good, except in respect to the treaty. I think what you are offering is going to be deemed a lifeline by the nations who understand what this means.”
Roth glanced at Dayne. “Have you made first contact?”
“Yes, they have requested a vid-conference with you, the general, Maggie, and several of the females. They want to see them and hear from their lips we are who we say we are and that our offer is genuine.”
“When?” Maggie asked.
“Two o’clock, which is in one of your Earth hours.”
She nodded, turning to face Roth.
“It’s time to do your new, critically essential job and save two races, Madam Ambassador.”
Glancing up, she gave him a hesitant smile. “One you nominated me for. It wasn’t out of guilt, or in an attempt at repayment, was it?”
“Absolutely not. However, if it earns me make-up points.” He bent his head closer and murmured, “And more make-up sex, after my asinine move, I won’t complain.”
With his teasing—which was more truth than fiction—her lips curved more fully as she gazed up at him, seemingly unaware of the captivating picture she made when she smiled.
“In all seriousness, who better than you, Maggie? Trusted and respected by both crews, no one else could represent us both so effectively.”
“Let’s hope for the Earth’s sake I’m up to it.”
***
The following week was a whirlwind of activity, and for Maggie, incredibly stressful. After that first video conference with a contingent of high-ranking military officers and top-level government advisors, including the Secretaries of State and Defense, the next step was a meeting with POTUS himself.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” Maggie muttered as she paced the length of space left between the wall and the long table in the crowded room—not an easy feat—as they waited for the conference to begin.
“You’re wearing a path in the floor, mate,” Roth said as he pulled out the chair beside him and pointedly aimed his chin at the seat.
She couldn’t sit there and maintain her composure. It was hard enough to calm her nerves, knowing in only a few seconds she’d be face-to-face with the leader of her country, who was also the most powerful man on Earth. In her lifetime, she hadn’t expected it to happen. How was she supposed to do it in the same exact spot Roth had fucked her only a few weeks ago? She couldn’t possibly sit there with a straight face while remembering how she had spread herself open for him to drive her to the breaking point with this mouth, and when she cried her rising passion to the ceiling, how he had surged into her over and over until she came, screaming his name.
“Maggie,” he called impatiently, raising that damn supercilious eyebrow.
She shook her head.
No, she simply couldn’t do it, especially when the source of her lust, the man who made her quiver with need, who could do it with a glance or the least little touch, was seated right beside her.
With an aggrieved sigh, he rose, took a few short steps, which for her were giant strides he was so damn tall, and stood in front of her the next instant.
“What is wrong with you?” He shifted, blocking her and their conversation from the rest of the room. “You’re agitated, flushed, and completely coming apart. Are you ill?”
“No, I’m not, but I can’t go through with it.”
“With what?”
“Meeting the president. Good God, Roth. Keep up!”
His head jerked back, staring dumbstruck at her. “Me? I’m not the one digging a groove in the floor with my pacing.”
She glared up at him. “Can’t you see I’m freaking out?”
“Yes, mate, that is why I asked you to come sit with me, to get you to calm down.”
“But that’s the problem.”
“What is?”
“Sitting down.”
He blinked. “Sitting is the problem?”
“Finally, he’s getting it.”
“No, Maggie, I’m not.” His patience was obviously wearing thin, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.
“Roth!”
“What in the name of the Maker is wrong?”
“You fucked me on the table in front of that seat,” she finally hissed.
He twisted and stared at the only vacant spot—for the count of three. Then, his chest began to quiver, and a low rumble rolled up his throat until his head fell back and he roared his laughter to the ceiling.
“I don’t find this funny, Commander.”
“Believe me; it is hilarious.”
“You get this man is important, right? As important to me as your Princep is to you; he’s my commander-in-chief.”
That sobered him up somewhat, for he stopped guffawing and drawing attention to them. He dipped his chin down to her. “I am your only commander, Maggie mine.”
“Yes, but—”
“He is a man, like any other when he rolls out of bed to meet each day. I, however, am your mate and the only superior you need to worry about or answer to. Understand?”
“Yes,” she murmured, at the same time eyeing the screen behind him with the blue podium and the presidential seal, which didn’t do much for her impending panic, either.
“We’re about to start. You’ll sit beside me, show these men how confident and poised you are under pressure, and through it all, if you need to, you can squeeze my hand under the table with no one the wiser. Everything is going to be fine.”
Her head snapped around. “You’ll hold my hand?”
“Of course, Maggie, why would I not?”
Always before, she faced stressful situations alone, making solo calls all on her own. Having a strong, trusted, supportive hand to hold onto for a change sounded nice.
“Okay,” she agreed, but made the mistake of glancing once again at the scene of the crime—well, more like the scene of the crime of passion—and her face once again, flooded with heat.
“Trask, Allon, Mordrun, shift left.” This was said with such authority, no one questioned his order, and behind him, Maggie could see the three men switch positions.
Roth brushed his thumb lightly across her cheek. “You’re going to be a wonderful representative of both our people. I’m confident of that.”
Smiling at his praise, she leaned into his touch. “Thank you, Roth, for believing in me, and for being my anchor in this freak-out storm, I’m having.”
“Always, purrada.”
After she took a steadying breath, she nodded, and he led her to her new non-anxiety-producing seat at the opposite end of the table. As he was helping her slide in her chair, the screen flashed onto the image of James Quincy Franklin, 73rd President of the United States, and without delay, the negotiations began.
Since that day, over a week ago, she’d been in meetings from daylight to dark, repeatedly answering the same questions. She’d conferenced in with the president twice more, along with several of his cabinet, and on several occasions spoken with different members of Congress, and she’d also met numerous times with a team of specially appointed scientists heading up a committee on Primarian studies, to learn more about the mating process. Roth, who sat beside her through it all, and true to his word, held her hand beneath the table when she got anxious or irritated, or so angry she wanted to throw her chair at the screen, held his own on the basic tenets of mate bonding with the non-scientific groups. When it had gotten into DNA and cellular biology, he had called on Ellar, a physic hand selected by Jarlan to speak on their level, although his expertise was garnered in less than three months on the human-Primarian connection.
After two weeks of debates and meetings via vid-conference, approval was finally given for a Primarian contingent to transport down by shuttle. Greeted by a team of security and law enforcement officers, they guarded the citizens. But they were also there to protect the visitors from the protestors who had already started gathering, holding signs with narrow-minded slogans, and persistent chants of “aliens go home” whenever they spotted her and Roth, or any of the others, coming or going.
Once on Earth, in New York City, specifically, Roth stuck like glue to her side, as had Trask with Lana, although she insisted she had dissolved their mate bond, something both Roth and Trask had said was impossible. Yet during the trip, with Lana on board the Odyssey and Trask aboard the Dauntless, a funny thing happened. Her eyes, which had been teal on Primaria when mated to the general, had changed back to her original brown, and the dark streaks in her fair hair had faded completely. Others asked if she had dyed it back to her natural color, but she denied it.
This gave Lana further basis to proclaim their bond broken. And, other than insisting being mated wasn’t for her, and she missed home, she hadn’t given a hint about what had happened when Trask had shuttled over and confronted her weeks ago.
Lana was closemouthed about it, and by Roth’s account, Trask was surly and as unwilling to talk. And she was sad.
No. The simple word didn’t do justice to the sorrow dulling her eyes, no matter how she tried to hide it. She’d lost weight and never smiled anymore, which was unlike the previously vivacious blonde.
Between Eryn and Lana, the questions and secrets were mounting, and on top of that, she had the alliance to solidify.
Maggie sighed, beginning to see what an important role she was playing in the whole scheme of things. And she had to admit, if she’d captained the Odyssey, she wouldn’t have been able to do it all.
Damn. She probably owed Roth an apology.
She reflected upon that for a moment. Was this what he expected, or something that just happened to turn out in his favor? Uncertain, she promptly nixed the apology—stubborn as she was—and decided she’d wait a bit more and see how it all played out.