Rosemary
Mene drove to the testing facility. He kept his eyes on the road as a good driver, but Rosemary chafed at having to need him to take her places. Working within walking distance from home meant she didn't need a vehicle. Every place, really. She used public transportation for shopping and taking Michael to and from school, and that was getting real old, real fast.
"When can I drive?"
"When you get a license," he said, eyes never leaving the road.
"How do I do that?"
"You apply for a license."
"Can we do that?"
"Not today."
"But eventually? Or do you like chauffeuring me around?"
"Can we measure out your battles against bureaucratic red tape or must you take on the entire system at once?"
"Fine, be that way." She pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at him but sank back into her seat in good humor.
"Are you attempting to trick me?"
"What are you talking about?" Genuinely confused, Rosemary just wanted to tease him a bit. All things considered, it had been a nice morning. It started a bit more intense than she was prepared for. Mene tested the boundaries they agreed to last night, and her traitorous body had been entirely on board until they were interrupted. Even breakfast—oatmeal with fruit and a type of thick, creamy yogurt—had been pleasant. Michael bubbled with excitement, forgetting to eat as he told Mene all about how he could share Michael's closet and room. He made space so Mene could have a drawer in a dresser. And Tani, once she stopped making demands for a grandson to be manufactured that instant, was back to her mellow, meddling self.
Mene was practically cheerful. As they sat side by side at the counter, he placed small, reassuring touches on her hand, her arm, and the small of her back.
He only grumbled once that the meal was not what he intended to have for breakfast. Then, bold as brass, he winked.
Blushing deeply, Rosemary told him he was welcome to serve himself and make his own dang food. It wasn't about the oatmeal. She knew what he truly wanted to feast on: her.
"What do you mean tricking you?" she repeated.
"Tempting me with your tongue. Enticing me to pull over."
A laugh bubbled up. "Enticing? I'm just trying to be an independent adult and take care of business." She was not the one who announced his plan to lick her pussy for breakfast and then had the nerve to complain with a wink at the breakfast table, in front of her son.
"You want me to pull over and finish what we started this morning." He nodded at his own words. "But I cannot. We must adhere to our schedule, no matter how you exhibit your mating parts to me."
"I'm not exhibiting— You know what, I'm not going to argue. You're right, Mene. You're just so damn irresistible."
"Truth, but you now owe a credit to the Swear Jar."
"Can I get a Newly Mated discount?"
"I am unable, my sweet mate. Michael made me pledge to keep you accountable."
"That little rat." Last week, Rosemary agreed to use the money in the Swear Jar to buy him a new bike. Ever since then, he'd been super vigilant.
They arrived at the testing facility, located at a Mahdfel base. Much like the Academy, the base was an orderly cluster of utilitarian buildings. From the outside, the bland gray structures did not look like they housed the most advanced weaponry and fighter craft in the star system.
"When we have satisfied the Bride Registry, we must return to my quarters."
Electricity shot ran up her spine. "Oh, I, um—" She didn't know how to tell Mene that while she enjoyed everything they did last night and that morning, she didn’t want to go further. She hated to lead him on, but she wasn’t ready for full-on sex with him. Not yet.
"I must retrieve my possessions," he said.
"Oh. That makes sense. How much do we have to pack?"
"A warrior should not be hampered by numerous material items, so not much."
Well, so she took it to mean that he didn't have a lot of clutter or knick knacks. Fine. Less stuff to move. Less stuff to find a space for. "You know, you don't have to share a dresser with Michael. I'll let you have an entire drawer for yourself."
"Your generosity brings me to my knees," he replied dryly.
Through a security checkpoint where a bored guard scanned her ID and then waved her through, they were funneled into a lounge. A crowd of waiting women looked up as they entered. Faces in shades of purple with tiny horns all gasped at the same moment. "What's he doing here? Is he picking up a bride? What kind of alien is she?" they whispered. Rosemary ignored their gossip, picked up a magazine she couldn't read, and found a seat.
Mene wedged into the chair next to her. She flipped through the glossy pages, disinterested and decided then that all waiting rooms were fundamentally the same with identical bland paint, dull pictures on the wall, and uncomfortable chairs just a size too small for Mene. Not a lot of Mahdfel hung out in the waiting room, apparently.
Anxiety and tension radiated off the other women in the waiting room. They looked at her with a mixture of envy, pity or open hostility. Rosemary didn't know what to do, so she continued to flip through the magazine, pausing on a full-color spread of a meal laden table.
"Will you prepare sorda?" Mene asked.
"Sure. Why not?" she said, barely paying attention.
"I do not care for it."
"Well, maybe it isn't all about you. Maybe I'll like it. I've been trying new stuff." She had too. The prices on imported food from Earth made her favorite and familiar comfort food out of her reach.
"Well, the sorda needs to be fresh when it is prepared. They should thrash on the plate."
"What?" Finally his words grabbed her attention.
He thumped a finger on the page. A pile of translucent little fish, sardine in shape, were arranged on a serving platter with a cream sauce. Their black eyes stared up at her from the page.
"Oh, no. I'm not making that." Rosemary slammed the magazine shut and tossed it on the table.
"I find it disgusting, as well."
A man in a lab coat called her name and ushered her into an exam room. Rosemary situated herself on the edge of a chair, and Mene took up most of the available room. The man barely glanced up from his tablet. "This is your first time here?"
"Correct."
"You're a bit old for your first test. And a bit Terran." He looked up then and noticed Mene for the first time. "Who are you?"
"Her mate," he said.
He checked the tablet again. "There must be some mistake. Why are you here?"
"I'm newly married. To him," Rosemary explained. She tapped her shoulder to draw his gaze to the vivid red bite mark.
The man sighed dramatically. "The proper procedure for an unauthorized mating is to notify the Ministry. Then your name would have been removed from the registry, you silly female."
Rosemary's back went up. "Excuse me? I was ordered to report here." Or face imprisonment or deportation. Fun times.
"And now you're here, aren't you?" Snotty indignation colored the tone of his voice. "We'll have to test you, which is a waste of resources because you've already made a match. And what if it's unsafe? Hmm? What then?"
"What do you mean unsafe?" Rosemary looked at Mene.
"It is nothing," her husband said.
"It is not nothing," the man snapped. He held out a swab and prodded Rosemary's lips. She batted it away. "Open, silly female."
"Do not call her silly," Mene growled.
Rosemary opened her mouth to argue. The medic took the opportunity and shoved the swab in, swishing it around her mouth as she choked and sputtered. "There, that wasn't so bad," he said in a mock-soothing voice. He jabbed the swap into a cylindrical device and lights along the side light up amber. "Now we wait to see how big a mistake you made."
Rosemary tugged on Mene's sleeve. "What does he mean?"
"Pregnancy risk," the medic said with a toss of his head, horns glinting under the light. "Did you not read any of the literature the Ministry sent?"
She hadn't. She had only fuzzy memories of the Ministry official shoving a pamphlet at her. She had been too busy worrying about her future, what the deportation or imprisonment on the table, to read. Not that she could. Written Sangrin remained a mystery. "Can't you cut the dramatics and just tell me?"
"So you have no idea why we need the genetic test? Why compatibility is important? The mortality rate is high, even with a good match."
She tugged on Mene's sleeve again. He leaned down, and she grabbed him by the collar, yanking him all the way down to her. "Explain yourself, Meanie."
"It is as he says." His blue eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze.
"So having a baby with you could kill me?" Thank the stars they agreed to go slow. Then, a more terrifying thought. “It could kill my sister. What did your brother do to my sister?”
“Calm yourself, female,” the medic said. He prepared a syringe with a long, wicked needle.
“Is that why Hazel wanted me to visit? Is she crossing things off her bucket list? And keep that needle away from me,” she snapped as the medic approached her.
He took a step back and set the syringe down. “It is the translation chip to replace that useless tourist’s toy that you wear.”
“Now is not the moment,” Mene told him.
“Mene, I’m freaking out. I need you to talk me down, buddy.” She did not release her grip on his shirt.
Last night, she told Mene she wasn’t ready for sex and he agreed, then he pushed her boundaries. She wanted to give in. She nearly gave in that morning. Sex would eventually happen and then pregnancy. The idea of a baby with Mene didn’t scare her but the words mortality rate did. It was like stepping back to the days before modern medicine when women were more likely to die in childbirth than from anything else.
Michael needed her. She wouldn't risk leaving him.
"That is not happening," she said. Her fingers clutched his shirt tighter. "You can send me back to Earth, I don't care. I'm not making Michael an orphan."
His large hand covered hers. "Michael is my son. He will always have a home here."
Empty platitudes could not vanquish the anxiety in her gut.
The cylinder dinged. The medic read the results and shook his head. "Ninety-seven percent, which is not technically good enough." He tossed the used swab in the hazardous waste bin. "You should reject this inferior female—"
Mene moved faster than her eyes could track. One second he was standing next to her, the next he was across the exam room and had his hands wrapped around the medic's horns. Applying pressure, he forced the medic to his knees. "I chose her. This female is my mate. No other."
“Please don’t hurt him,” Rosemary said.
"She’s not yours legally—"
Mene squeezed, and the medic gurgled in his throat. "Mine! She is mine, and you will not say she is inferior. She is perfect."
The entire display was misguided and barbaric. Unwanted, even. Of course, her pussy was ecstatic. That traitor never made good decisions.
He said she was perfect.
The medic's face turned a deep shade of purple, close to eggplant. That couldn't be good.
"Let him go," Rosemary said, placing a hand on Mene’s arm.
His eyes snapped to hers, bright and fierce. His lip, perpetually curved into a frown thanks to scar tissue, twitched. He released the medic, who rubbed his throat. "I don't care about the compatibility. You are my mate. No other,” Mene said.
"To make babies. Obviously. They," she waved a hand at the medic, "need to know you’re able to knock up a gal."
The medic's eyebrows shot up. "The Mahdfel are perfectly capable of impregnating any female. Their sperm is, um, highly aggressive." Then, under his breath, "I wouldn't be surprised if they could impregnate me. Viability of the sperm is not an issue. The health and well-being of the mother is the issue."
"I'm healthy enough to have a baby." She already had one.
"And I'm sure whatever-you-are babies just fall right out, but Mahdfel babies are very stressful on the mother's body. The mortality rate is high. Ninety-seven percent is barely acceptable.”
"Okay," she agreed, voice placid. Mene was about to lose it over this snarky, rude medic, for her. No one had ever been angry enough to hurt anyone on her behalf. On one hand, the violence of it appalled her. She never wanted anyone to be hurt because of a perceived slight. On the other hand, he cared for her. Truly, passionately, maybe not rationally, but he cared for her. “What else do we need to do before we can leave?”
“Sign this.” The medic shoved a tablet at her. “Once the form is processed, you’ll be removed from the Bride Registry. I also have the injection for your translator ready.”
He pressed the syringe to a bit of skin just behind her ear. One momentary pinch later, it was in. He rattled off instructions, warned that headaches were common, and just like that, Mene and Rosemary were officially married.
Mr. and Mrs. Rhew.
***
The room was not as she expected. She wasn't sure what she expected. Something sparse utilitarian much like the base. In reality, it was nice. Really nice.
And familiar.
"Did your mother decorate—"
“She did,” Mene said with some reluctance. “My mother has a need for an outlet. She had decorated all of our quarters to be welcoming to our mates, when that day arrived.”
“It's really nice,” she said. “Too bad we’re not staying here.” All the reasons they listed last night to avoid living on base remained valid, no matter how lovingly Tani decorated her son’s quarters. If she really wanted, she was sure, she could ask Tani to decorate the cottage. The older woman would be more than delighted to do so. It’s given her a prime opportunity to snoop and meddle, which Rosemary knew were Tani’s two favorite activities.
She'd think about it.
Right now everything was so different and so up-in-the-air. She liked the comfy and cozy feel of the cottage with its mismatched furniture.
Mene grabbed a duffle bag and stuffed it with clothes. His duties would take him to the base daily. If he needed something, he could easily pick it up. He grabbed the necessities for daily living and nothing more.
Then he pushed back a wall panel and revealed an arsenal. A literal arsenal.
Rosemary could not believe her eyes. Floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall guns, knives, swords, daggers, things designed to explode, maim, puncture and other methods of creative destruction. Basically, it was a wall of things she couldn’t allow in her house.
“You are not bringing that home,” she said.
“It is my duty to protect you. I require it.”
“Oh no. Michael gets wind that you have anything like this, you will never get a moment's peace. You cannot bring that into the house.”
“Perhaps just a small sword.” He grabbed a sword about the length of her arm to demonstrate its inherent safety.
“There is no such thing as a small sword.”
“A pistol,” he said, like that was a reasonable compromise.
“No. I know Michael will find it and shoot his face off.”
“This is keyed to my genetic signature. It will only operate for me.” He picked up the pistol and showed her the locking mechanism. On the handle grip was a built-in scanner. “He will not be able to use this, not even if he severed my hand. It detects body temperature as well as genetic material.”
“What I want to know is why you’re always insisting that I’m in danger. I’ve never seen anything more dangerous than a dust bunny at your parents’ house.” Seriously. He acted like monsters lurked under the bed and knife-wielding maniacs jumped out from behind the bushes. “What do you think is going to happen?”
“A Suhlik attack.”
“When was the last—” She bit back her words. She couldn’t argue his point. The Suhlik could and did randomly attack. It happened on Earth, so of course it could happen on Sangrin. “Okay, just swear Michael wouldn’t be able to use the gun.”
“On my honor, you son will never be able to shoot this weapon.” Then, “He might be able to use it as a club.”
“Wonderful. Don't give him that idea, okay?”
“Agreed.” He placed the pistol in the duffle and zipped it up. “If we do suffer in an incursion, my father has a complete, functional arsenal under the main house. Do not worry. We are well protected.”
“Wonderful,” she said. He nodded, missing the sarcasm. “Don't you dare say those words to Michael.”
That could lead to trouble. Maybe when he was older and more responsible, she would feel differently, but for now, she’d keep right on being an overprotective momma. He struggled against her overprotective instincts now. One day, she’d have to deal with the fact that her baby boy was growing up. That was tomorrow’s worry; today, the secret underground arsenal needed to stay secret.
Mene finished and carried only one bag.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked. So many conflicting ideas raced through her head and her heart. She needed time to process, but time wasn’t an option.
“Yes. I do not require much in the way of material possessions.”
“No. That's not what I mean. I mean about the ninety-seven percent?”
“I am sure you are my mate.”
“The match isn’t very good.”
He stepped toward her, and the bag fell to the ground. He brushed the stray tendrils behind her ears before resting his hands on her shoulders. “The ninety-seven percent is acceptable. My mother was tested out of curiosity, and she is ninety-one percent. She had three healthy sons, as you can see. Ninety-seven is very safe.”
“But not legally enforceable.” She didn’t want to say the next words. She didn’t, but she needed to. “We don’t have to go through with this.”
Her alternatives weren’t great—deportation, jail or taking her chances to not have a legally enforceable match—but she didn’t like the idea of trapping Mene in a marriage he didn’t want.
“You need this,” he said. “Nothing has changed from last night.”
She liked him. She never thought she'd say that. He did not make the first impression or second impression, but he grew on her. She liked his seriousness. She liked that he did what he said and he meant what he said.
She liked how much her son loved him. She liked his family. She liked how thoroughly safe she felt when he stood next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Not smothering, just reassuring. She wasn't alone. She had him,
She liked him too much to coerce him. “But what if I’m depriving you of a better match? She can have your babies and won’t get sick.”
“There is no other female for me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. My mother has paraded many eligible females before me. They might be interested in my position but this,” he waved to his scared face, “drives them away.”
“I don’t know why you're always so down on yourself. You’re not hideous. I like it.” She placed her fingers at the corner of his mouth. The scar tissue tugged at his lips, pulling it into a frown. She pushed up, forcing a smile until his fangs peeked out, giving him an alarming visage. Yeah, smiling wasn't really that much of an improvement, but he wasn't that bad. “I happen to like your face, and I like your scars. They’re badass.”
“A badass?” He flashed a genuine smile, flooded with warmth and humor.
Yeah, she liked him.
A low rumble emanated from his chest and went straight to her core. She liked her brutish -looking alien a lot.
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “You are my true mate. There is no other. I want no other. Even if you're unable to have a son of our own, the son you bring has already filled my heart. It is more than this unworthy male could ever hope for.” His hand stroked down her arms, cradling her to his chest. He nibbled on her ears, found her jaw and drifted down. "Know now that this is not false and I intend to mate you in every way.” He licked the cords of her neck for emphasis.
Yeah, there was no mistaking what he meant by mated in every sense. “We should go slow,” she said, halfheartedly. Her words were weak and had no meaning.
“So you say. I will change your mind,” he said.
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“I will wait for your heart to agree with your body, but know that I am your true mate and I will have you in every way.”
“You agreed no sex.”
“I agreed to go slow.”
She somehow didn’t think he had the patience to go as slow as she needed. She believed the same about herself.
Well, sugar pops.