Hazel

A pair of green eyes watched Hazel intently when she woke. A human girl with short, dark hair, no older that her nephew Michael, watched her intently.

“Hey there,” she managed to say, throat dry and scratchy. After the room full of purple men shouting and punching each other, the knowledge that she wasn’t the only human on the Judgment offered some comfort.

The girl tilted her head back. “Meri-DAN!”

The shout, unexpected and loud, jolted Hazel into an upright position. Her regrets were immediate. Dizziness and nausea whirled about her and it was all she could do to sit still in the maelstrom. 

A woman dressed in nurse’s scrubs—Meridan, she assumed—shooed the girl away. “Well, if you weren’t awake, you are now.”

“Where’s Seeran?” The memory of the warlord twisting and breaking his glorious horn and the wet, repulsive sound it made as it fell to the floor came back with a fresh wave of nausea.

“He’s fine.”

Not likely. His horn was broken in half.

“I have to see him,” she said, moving to get out of the hospital bed. Briefly it registered that the bed was far too large for human proportions but it was clearly a hospital bed, complete with plastic railings on the side; strange and familiar all at once.

“He’s fine,” the nurse repeated. “We patched him up and sent him on his way.”

“No. He’d be here if that were true.” Hazel gingerly touched the back of her head, the location of the pounding in her head. 

The nurse’s dark eyes softened and for a moment she wasn’t all serious business. “He’s with the warlord now. He didn’t want to leave and he’ll be back the moment he’s able.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Looks like you have a case of teleportation intolerance. It’s not serious and will pass. How do you feel?”

“Like my body is backwards.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Yup. Her head was in the right spot. Teleportation accidents were rare, and messy. She really didn’t think she’d be conscious enough to survey the aftermath if something had gone wrong.

“I’ve given you fluids and an anti-nausea medication.”

“Anything for the headache?”

The nurse frowned. “Headaches aren’t normally associated with teleportation intolerance.”

“Well, the first one went okay but my head is really pounding.”

“The first one?”

“Yeah, right from Florida back to Florida. Then again today. Is it still today?”

“How long between the teleports?”

Hazel shrugged her shoulders and a tight pinch flared at the back of her skull. “Twelve hours maybe.”

The nurse rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Her lips moved but if she mumbled or cursed, Hazel couldn’t hear. The ringing in her ears masked that nicely.

“Is that bad?” Hazel asked.

“No, you’re just going to have a hangover.” She put her shoulders back, having decided on a treatment plan. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to administer a pain blocker and a sedative. You’re going to sleep this off while the warlord chews out Seeran. He’ll be, I don’t know, properly chastised or flayed by the time you wake up.”

“Flayed?” Hazel watched as the woman pressed a silver canister to her arm.

“They’ve got some strange ideas about punishment,” the nurse said. “I’m Meridan, by the way.”

“Hazel,” she managed to say, mouth mushy and focus growing fuzzy.

“Oh, we all know about you: the woman who made Seeran loose his cool. You’re a legend.”

She fell back into the bed just as the world went dark.

Seeran

SEERAN WAS SPARED BUT not unscathed. He did not have time to wonder at it. Witnessing his mate grow sick and collapse hurt him more than physical pain. She needed him and once again he failed to protect her in the most basic ways.

The loss of his horn... Well, it hurt his male pride more than any real physical hurt. Some males took horn size and density to indicate virility and strength, but it was all vanity. Horns were cartilage and skin and better warriors than him had lost their horns.

He knew why Paax broke his horn, to mark Seeran. He might have been spared but he did not have the warlord’s favor. Every male in the clan would be reminded of Seeran’s dishonor when they saw his profile.

He lightly touched the damp spot at the base of his horn. The jagged end held an exposed nerve that sang a ballad of constant pain. The medic offered to have it capped or grind it down to an even surface. Jagged as it was, it would catch every time he dressed.

Only vanity. He would live with it.

Correction, he got to have a future with his mate and it only cost him a horn. Lorran would tease him, of course, because his younger brother believed that to be his primary responsibility, but Seeran would endure.

He found the warlord in his ready room, seated at a round table. Mylomon, the warlord’s second in command, stood at the table. Jaxar, the chief engineer, stood at the opposite end, his arms folded over his chest and a stubborn resolve settled into his stance. It was little secret the males couldn’t stand each other. Finally, Rohn, the flight deck chief, toyed with a small mechanical item, apparently oblivious to Mylomon’s and Jaxar’s argument. 

Paax fixed his gaze on Seeran. His blue eyes briefly glanced at the jagged horn before waving to an empty seat. “I’d ask you to explain your actions on Earth but I fear the answer will only make me regret sparing your life.”

A more inexperienced warrior might have asked another if that meant Paax wanted an explanation or not, but Seeran knew his warlord. He knew how his mind turned.

“I found my mate, sir,” he said.

“And that gives you leave to make an ass out of yourself?”

“She has an ex-mate who hurt her. A false mate. The Terran authorities had no interest enforcing their laws and left my mate defenseless.”

“You have another male’s mate?” Rohn asked, looking up from his gadget, tone mystified.

“Terrans do not always mate for life,” Paax said. “My mate explained this to me.”

“Fickle lot,” Rohn said with a huff. “Glad I’m not matched to one of them.”

Paax turned his attention to Rohn. The two highest ranking warriors in the clan were mated to Terrans. “Is there anything particularly objectionable with Terrans?”

Rohn shrugged, either oblivious to his warlord’s ire or simply not caring. “Glad I’m not matched to anyone, really. I barely have time to scratch my own ass, let alone provide for a female. Can you imagine? She’d have to live on the flight deck with me.” Rohn snorted at the idea.

“While you were away,” Paax said, turning back to Seeran, “we uncovered a traitor.”

Seeran moved to scratch at the base of his horn but paused, electing to rub his chin. “Antu.”

The warlord raised a brow, waiting.

“His brother wants to be warlord of a larger clan,” Seeran continued.

“Just so. While tracking a Suhlik research facility, we went through a gate to find three Suhlik warships.”

“Those golden bastards were waiting for us,” Rohn grumbled.

“Did Antu share our location with his brother?”

“Antu was deceased by that time,” Paax admitted. “I suspected he leaked information but he challenged me.”

A challenge could not go unanswered. Seeran understood this.

Mylomon cleared his throat. “In all fairness, warlord, you provoked his challenge.”

A grin crept across Paax’s stoic face. “I did.”

The warlord gave a quick rundown of the ensuing battle of one Mahdfel battle cruiser against three Suhlik colpor class warships. Mylomon led a raiding party, secured the surrender of the Suhlik captain and captured the warship. The clan now had a Suhlik ship. It took Jaxar and his team of engineers a week to clear the ship of all traps and self-destruct charges. 

“The Suhlik fired on the shuttle,” Mylomon concluded.

Of course the Suhlik fired on their own captured soldiers. They would never welcome back a soldier that had been defeated.

“I made them kill their own males,” Paax said, a bit of pride slipping into his voice.

“That was a mistake, warlord,” Seeran said. He continued quickly, to avoid Paax’s wrath. “Those soldiers were dead the moment we captured them. The Suhlik have never accepted back prisoners of war. We’ve seen them slit the throats of their own men.”

Paax nodded.

“We would have been bettered served taking those men back to the Judgment and letting our warriors fight them in the arena.” Not all the insults hurled by Terrans were inaccurate. The Mahdfel were a bloodthirsty people. Only a small amount of warriors were in the raiding party. Those who remained on the ship to protect the clan’s females and children had been denied battle and blood. Those brutal elements were crucial to the emotional well-being of a warrior.

“He’s correct,” Mylomon said. “The bloodsport would have solidified your leadership. This was an intellectual victory.”

Paax did not appear upset at the criticism. He mishandled the politics of the situation, an easy mistake. His brother, the previous warlord, had been the one who answered the call of leadership. “Are you telling me that my warriors are simple males with simple tastes?”

“Very simple, sir,” Rohn said.

Mylomon lifted one massive shoulder in a shrug. It was a disturbingly Terran gesture. “You’re a genius, sir, but you forget we’re idiots. You need to dumb it down.”

Paax snorted. “I don’t have to dumb it down for you, do I, Seeran?”

He pieced together the larger picture and what Paax could need from him specifically that spared his life when the warlord had every reason to end it. Antu’s brother was a minor warlord with a small clan but big ambitions. “Someone sent our location or destination to Antomas. Someone working with Antu but savvy enough to not get caught in the challenge.”

Paax nodded. “Go on.”

“They could still be working with Antomas, who very much wants to corner you into a challenge to seize the Judgment for himself. What does the council have to say about this?”

Mylomon laughed, loud and barking and totally unexpected. The other males stood motionless, watching the former assassin with suspicion.

“Your mate has changed you,” Jaxar said, breaking the silence.

“For the better?”Mylomon asked.

“No. Your good mood disturbs me. I liked you better silent and grim.”

Mylomon nodded, as if he often heard the same concern.

“Find the remaining traitor,” Paax said in a tone that implied the meeting came to an end. “There are two Suhlik warships out there. I suspect they wait for us at our destination.”

“Is there anything in this research facility we’re going to,” Jaxar mused. “I’ve got a Suhlik warship to play with. I’m not sure I need any more toys.”

“This entire thing has been a trail of bara seeds,” Mylomon said. “There is nothing waiting for us except two warships and a trap.”

Seeran turned to Paax. “Then why go?”

“Because if this is a trail of bara seeds, then it was laid out long ago,” Paax said. “I will see it to the end and find the male who covets my clan so much that he plotted this out a year in advance.”

Seeran turned to Mylomon. “The Council would not hear anything ill of their favored warlord?”

Another laugh, this one as disturbing as the first. “They tell us to be patient and sit on our hands while Antomas sharpens the knife for our back.”

Paax rose from the table. “I thought to offer the Suhlik ship as a peace offering but now I will drive into whatever trap we find waiting for us. And when I destroy those remaining Suhlik warships, the ones who threatened my mate and my sons, I will cut out Antomas’s heart and feed it to him.”

Hazel

“I’M NOT AN INVALID.”

Seeran carried her through the halls of the battle cruiser. Passing warriors gave them a curious glance but no one seemed overly concerned about a Mahdfel carrying a perfectly capable woman like an infant.

“You are ill from teleportation. You need rest.”

“Well, you had a horn broken. Maybe you need rest.” Staring at the broken horn proved hard to avoid. It just looked so savage. A savage injury for a savage man. Male. Whatever.

“I will not argue with you,” Seeran said.

“But you’re not letting me walk.”

“We are already of one mind, mate. We agree on all things.”

Yeah, not so much. Ready to kick her legs and make carrying her super difficult, another warrior approached.

“Brother! What an intriguing package you bring. I see it is a sister.” The male appeared younger than Seeran, though Hazel had a hard time gaging alien ages, and shared the same wine colored complexion. Something about his eyes, the same bright blue, were more open, hopeful, from the cold stare of Seeran.

“It is not your place to be intrigued,” Seeran snapped. He set Hazel down on her feet and boldly stepped between her and his brother. A growl rumbled loud enough for Hazel to feel it in her bones.

The male seemed immune to Seeran’s glare, growl and general surliness. Definitely had to be a younger brother. “Are you hungry, little Terran?” he asked Hazel directly, ignoring his brother.

“Lorran, that is not your place.” He punctuated his words with a hard shove to the male’s chest.

Lorran only smiled. “Allow me to bring a small, insignificant meal to my sister. I’m sure you’re far too busy to go to the mess hall, unless you would feed her from the reconstructor?” The tone of the question implied that Seeran did not want Hazel’s first meal to be from the reconstructor. If the Mahdfel tech was the same as Earth, food from the reconstructor tasted flat and bland.

“Only this once,” Seeran said with a curt nod. “Go. Do not look at my mate!”

Lorran leaned dramatically to one side to wink at Hazel. “It is a pleasure to meet the female who broke my brother.”

“He’s not broken,” Hazel said, even as her eyes drifted to his broken horn.

Seeran stood with his arms crossed, watching Lorran’s retreating figure, until satisfied his brother was a tolerable distance away.

“That was your brother?”

“Obviously.”

“Younger, if I had to guess.”

“From his demeanor or his stature?”

“Both?” Lorran didn’t seem short but he might be the runt of the family for all she knew. “I have a sister. Rosemary. We bicker. A lot. Sometimes I think we enjoy the fight.”

Seeran paused at an unmarked door. “We are here.”

She wasn’t sure what to expect. The teleporter, the amazing piece of tech from the Mahdfel that hurled a person through freaking space was just a room. Space prison was a regular jail cell. Even the Mahdfel medical bay had the familiarity of an Earth hospital. Even the corridors of the ship with the flat gunmetal grey walls and harsh lighting had the look of a plain old battleship, at least the ones from the old war movies. So when the doors slid open to Seeran’s private quarters, Hazel expected a sparse, utilitarian space with little furniture and zero personal effects. Seeran just didn’t strike her as a sentimental kind of guy.

He scooped her up in one easy motion.

“What are you doing?”

“This is a Terran custom,” Seeran said, carrying her across the threshold. “I observed this behavior from your television.”

Ready to chide him for thinking everything he saw on television was true, the words vanished on her lips. He brought her to a spa, the fanciest spa she’d ever seen. Definitely the kind beyond her budget, complete with rice paper and wood wall panels, ink wash paintings, rattan rugs thick on the floor, potted leafy green plants, chimes and a small fountain in the corner. An honest to goodness fountain.

They stood in a central room. A food prep area waited along the left wall. To the right were closed doors, each door a rice paper and wooden frame panel. The panels on the walls were white. The doors were a cream. The space had a closed off, tidy feel, as if everything had been put away neatly before a long trip away from home.

The far window offered a view of a garden on a misty morning.  A tree with heavy pink blossoms, so like a cherry blossom tree but not, stretched its branches over a reflection pool. A small animal splashed in the water and birds called, their song almost familiar. The aesthetics of the garden was ordinary and alien all at once. It had to be a holo-projection or an imagine on the view screen.

The complete serenity of the atmosphere wrapped around her like a fuzzy blanket.

This was the last thing she expected.

“You do not approve,” Seeran said.

“What, no. This is... amazing.” Her fingers skimmed the cold stone surface of the food prep area. A friendly looking wooden table and two chairs waited to one side. There was a ceramic mug, glaze well-worn from use, sitting on the table. The kitchen was warm, inviting, and exactly the kind of spot she’d like to sit down in the morning, sipping hot tea and watching the mists shift in the garden. “Did you do this yourself?”

“My mother. For my mate.”

Hazel looked up from the empty mug in surprise. His mother decorated his ship quarters for a mate that never arrived. She was unsure how she felt about that, like living in a museum of missed opportunities.

Seeran gestured broadly to the room, like his mother would walk out from behind a closed door. “After Lova—” His voice stumbled but he continued, “After, she did this. She said it was a promise to the future.”

“I’m the first woman you’ve bought here.”

“Of course,” he said stiffly, as if offended.

“This isn’t something your mother did for your former mate. It’s not a museum to a woman long gone.”

Seeran regarded her with his cool and intense gaze. “Tani did this for you, years ago, before we met. She did it for the... hope of you. So I would not despair.” His voice grew thick and he shifted, clearly uncomfortable discussing something painful. “The aesthetics is Sangrin. She is traditional in that manner.”

Hazel inspected the sitting area and selected the comfiest looking chair. “You have a lot of women in your life, Seeran Rhew. I’m not sure I approve.” She intended to tease but it came out harsher, like an accusation.

He chuffed but did not seem upset. “You will meet the warlord’s female and then you will know that some females are impossible to avoid.”

“I already met one human woman. Meridan. I think she’s a nurse.”

“Medic Kalen’s female. She assists in the medical bay. We have discovered that Kalen does not have the bedside method to make females at ease.”

Hazel wanted to laugh at the mangled words but knew what he meant. She gave the room another look. “What’s behind the doors?”

Seeran gave a short tour. “Spare bedroom. Cleansing room. Our bedroom.”

The room had a large, low profile bed. Above the bed hung a ceremonial sword, the fine blade gleaming in the light. Knowing the Mahdfel, the sword was not ceremonial but very real.  Rough wooden planks lined the walls. Plush rugs were scattered across the floor. There was a bench, a built-in wardrobe and a chair with a small table tucked to the side, clearly meant for her to curl up in and read away an afternoon.

“Our bedroom, huh?”

“If this displeases you, there is the spare—”

“No.  This is good.” Hazel imaged the neatly made bed and plump pillows as they would appear the morning after a night of hard, fierce loving. How soon would Seeran expect that? They were married on paper, which was good enough for Earth, but the contract clearly stated that the Mahdfel did not consider the marriage final until sealed with sex. The contract also clearly stated that sex happened at her discretion. She could not be forced or pressured into the act.

She glanced quickly at Seeran, once again admiring the strength in his thighs and the way the fabric of his trousers moved as he walked.

Seeran opened the wardrobe and stripped off his shirt, revealing a broad back and the thick, corded  muscles of his arms. His shoes and trousers came off just as quickly and there her alien husband’s bare magenta butt was in all its glory, without a shred of modesty or cloth.

A blush crept over her. She really hoped he didn’t want to wait long.

She also really hoped he’d turn around.

He did. Hazel gave a little squeak of surprise, her eyes focusing on his face. His face, dang it.

“You changed color again. Are you too hot? I will adjust the temperature.”

“No, I’m good.” She gave her husband a smile. “Really.”

He nodded and dressed quickly in a set of casual black togs. “Your luggage has not been delivered yet. Do you wish to shower and wear one of my tunics?”

“No thank you.”

“You have worn the same items for more than twenty-four hours. I have been informed that is unacceptable for many Terrans. Surely you wish to be clean.”

She did feel grungy. The skin on her lower back had the itchy, crawling sensation it got when she needed a shower. “A shower sounds great.”

Seeran showed her the controls in the cleansing room. Steam filled the room as Hazel waited for him to leave. He continued to lurk. With a sigh, she undressed. Hot water and soap worked wonders to clear her head.

She found a neatly folded white tunic waiting on the counter. As she dressed, she noticed the bruising on her arms were nearly gone. That must have been the “other treatments” the nurse mentioned. Alien medicine wasn’t so bad.

Lorran waited in the common room. He broke off whatever conversation he had with his brother and stood at attention. He gave her a deep bow.

Seeran’s tunic was large enough on her to fit like a dress but she felt exposed all the same. No pants. No panties. No bra. 

“Seeran instructed me to bring back a selection of mild foods, as you were ill from the teleporter. I hope they please you, sister.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I mean, great. Thank you. They seem good.”

Lorran gave her another bow and with a short nod to Seeran, he left them.

What Lorran brought was chicken noodle soup. Hazel laughed as the familiar salty aroma hit her. Sick food. “Did you see this on TV, too?”

“I have been on Earth for the last month, assigned to protect pilot Vox’s female. She insisted this was the sustenance for when a person felt ‘barfy’.”

“Thank you. I’m starving.”

His eyes grew wide. “Nothing about your appearance suggests malnutrition. I am badly misinformed about Terran biology.”

Stars, he was cute. And hot.

“I mean I’m hungry.” She took a spoonful. The soup was good. “So how many brothers do you have?”

“Two. Lorran, who you have met, and Mene. I am the middle child.”

“Lorran is younger?”

“Correct.”

“Three sons. Is that a lot?”

His chest puffed up. “It is a large family. My father was very virile, as I am sure to be.”

“And how many babies were you planning on?” The idea of children didn’t terrify her. In the past it had. A baby would have tied Scott to her forever. She didn’t have much control of her body or her life while married but at least she managed to get birth control. Plus, the entire point of the Mahdfel-Earth Treaty was babies. She could hardly be surprised it was a top priority for Seeran.

“Many,” he said with supreme confidence.

That idea terrified her.

“Many?”

“At least three, or more if you can.” He paused, his eyes getting that cool look again. He leaned across the table and laid a hand on her wrist. “Only what is safe for you. Any child would be a gift from the stars but I would not sacrifice you for a son.”

Well, there was that.

“Will your family be upset that I’m not Sangrin?” Was he?

He tilted his head to one side. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you know—” She waved a hand to highlight the general aesthetic of the space. “It seems that Sangrin culture is very important to you. Them.”

That cool look again. “I enjoy the familiarity of home. They will accept you without question. And your family?”

Rosemary. “Ah, well... I told my sister last night about my great plan—”

“A plan that worked in my favor.”

“Even so, she wasn’t a fan.”

“Will she object to you being with a Mahdfel?”

“Probably.” Hazel pushed away the bowl of soup. She would need to call her sister tomorrow, to let her know where she landed. That kind of communication had to be expensive. “Look, what I’m going to say isn’t pretty. The only aliens we ever really saw were the scary ones that murdered our parents. I never really knew or even spoke to a Mahdfel. We were scared. She had a kid, Michael, to avoid the draft. You know what I did. So no, I don’t think she’s super excited about this.”

He grunted. Hazel yawned.

“You are tired.”

“I have a lot of questions. Like that human nurse. Was she a nurse before or is she a nurse now because she’s married to a medic? Can I have a job, too? I don’t have any fancy certificates or qualifications, but I like to stay busy. I waitressed, that has to be universal—”

“You will not bring food to males,” he announced, voice firm.

“Wait, what?”

“You will not. I forbid it.” His chest heaved, as if enraged and hanging on by a thread.

“Okay, no waitressing. Chill.” Her words calmed him.

He breathed out, long and slow, like he recited a mantra in his head. Finally, “You may have an occupation if you chose. The warlord’s female will want to give you a tour. She would be a good person to ask.”

That was another thing she wanted to ask. “What’s going to happen with the—” She gestured to his broken horn.

“The warlord gave me an impossible task and will work me until his wrath is satisfied. The usual.”

“No more breaking bones?”

“A horn is not a bone. It is mostly cartilage and sinew.”

Nothing about his statement made it better. Violence was how they solved problems here. Seeran claimed the warlord had been a scientist—a scientist!—and the male had snapped a bone with his bare hands with trivial ease. Hazel kept her worries to herself as they prepared for bed.

Wearing only pants, his hands hesitated at the waistband in a manner that implied he normally slept in the buff but decided against it. For her. She appreciated the thought but a naked alien wasn’t going to freak her out. Too many freak-out worthy events had happened today for her to get upset about exposed skin.

She knew they weren’t having sex. Not tonight. Medication hid the lingering effects of the teleportation sickness but she could tell her head wasn’t right. When they made love, finally, she wanted to be able to appreciate every touch.

Seeran noticed her staring and preened, chest puffed out with a smirk. “You admire your mate.”

Well, duh, but she didn’t need to feed that ego of his. “Does it hurt?”

His head titled.

“The horn?”

“No. It is cartilage and sinew, as I said. The nerve endings are at the base.” He took her hand and placed it at the root of his intact horn. Her fingers pressed into something spongy but not unpleasant. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed with pleasure.

“I’m not, oh—” She pulled her hand back. The base of his horn seemed to have a direct line to his cock, which stood at full mast, tenting the front of his trousers. Briefly she wondered at the color. Paler? Darker? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Mates do not apologize for what gives them pleasure,” he said. Heat and something predatory replaced the cool distance in his eyes. She was about to be pounced.

He lightly gripped her chin and moved her head to one side, exposing her neck. He’d promised to bite her. Hazel steeled herself for the inevitable sink of fangs into her flesh.

His teeth grazed the tender flesh of her ear lobe. A shiver went through her.

“It is like that,” he said.

“I don't want to have sex tonight,” Hazel blurted. She blushed fiercely. “I mean, I do. I will. Just not tonight.”

His fingers skated over the heated flesh of her cheeks. “It is dishonorable to lay with a female who is injured or ill.” He brought his face closer, the warmth in his fires now an honest-to-goodness blaze. “No matter how much I desire.”

“I’d be all over you if I weren’t so darn tired,” Hazel admitted. Dishonorable or not.

“Sleep, now. It’s been a long day,” Seeran said, pulling her down to the bed next to him. His warmth enveloped her and she was asleep in moments.