Rosemary

 

 

Mene set the book down on the nightstand. "I have reached a conclusion."

"Is this something I wanna know?" Rosemary worked the lotion into her arms and shoulders. Fresh out of the shower, her damp hair hung down her back.

"I will read these stories to our future sons."

"Don't go bouncing babies on your knee yet, sugar plum. We aren't exactly making babies over here." She regretted those words immediately because they implied she was ready for some baby-making. They had shared a bed for a week without as much as brushing hands. Now she was acutely aware of sitting on the bed in nothing more than a tank top—his, which was enormous on her—and sleep shorts.

With a heated look, Mene took the lotion from her. He brushed her damp hair to one side and warmed the lotion in his hands before applying it to her neck and shoulders. He placed a light kiss on the nape of her neck. She shivered at the touch. "I admire the warrior ethos of the Terran folklore. You battle giants and monsters, bring justice to the wicked, and reward those with honor."

"Those are just old tales."

"No." He pushed up the hem of the tank top and applied lotion to between her shoulder blades. "You fill your children with tales of valor and good triumphing over evil and send them off to sleep with such thoughts. And the heroes do not win by strength alone. They must be clever and turn their opponents’ strengths against them."

"That's what you got out of that? Maybe some stories but a lot are about being obedient and following the rules." He worked his thumbs into the taut muscles at her neck and shoulder, and she nearly melted into a puddle right then and there. The warmth of his hands eased tension she hadn't realized she carried.             

"Fed on such tales, our sons will be formidable warriors," he said.

"Hmm. That's nice," she said absently. His voice had such a deep, pleasing quality; it could lull her to sleep. He continued to murmur, but she stopped paying attention, focused on how the heat of his hands made her spine dissolve.

Cold metal against her skin jarred her into alertness.

"What's this?" Her hands went to the necklace and pendant now around her neck.

"A gift. It’s tradition,” Mene said.

“You’ve been saying that a lot, recently.” And using it to justify everything. She took the necklace off to better inspect it. A delicate gold chain held a simple pendant that caught the light, and the blue stone glowed with an internal fire. “It’s lovely. Gorgeous, really. Nicer than anything I’ve ever owned, but I can’t accept this.”

She held out the pendant, urging him to take it back. Their screwed-up relationship was not at the jewelry-giving stage.

His large hand curled around hers and closed her palm. “It is for you.”

“I can’t.”

She could see the moment his emotions shut down. The light in his eyes dimmed, and the perpetual frown at his mouth was real, not just a side effect of scarring.

He stroked the curve of her cheek before taking the pendant and putting it back around her neck.

"Traditions are curious things," he said. "My son will not look like me. He will be Terran in appearance."

"But he'll be Mahdfel," she said. She knew that bit of trivia. Outward, their hypothetical kid would be human-looking but under-the-hood, so to speak, would be a genetically engineered super soldier.

"It is only random chance I look like my father, but he does not look like his father. I am born to serve this planet, but I am not of it. The Mahdfel remain separate, always, despite our generations." She found herself nodding as he spoke. "Our name is not our own. We were taken from our home planet long out of memory, and our names stripped away. We were changed into tools, into thralls, for the Suhlik and in many ways, we remain their thralls." He paused, fingers stroking her bite mark. "We are born to fight. Even in our liberation, we fight the Suhlik. They define our existence."

She never thought of it that way. He had as little choice in his fate as she did. Less. Rosemary chose to marry Mene and remain on Sangrin. Mene would always be a Mahdfel.

"These traditions are all we have to connect the generations." He placed a gentle kiss on the claiming mark. "What do I give our son except a legacy of blood and slavery?"

She climbed to her knees on the bed and turned to face him. "Thank you for explaining that to me. It's beautiful. I'm touched."

He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking. "A male presents the pendant to his mate when she has given him a child."

She almost protested that she hadn't given him a child, but said, "Michael."

"Other males in the clan may present you with a bead or charm to be strung on the chain. It is for luck."

"Mine or theirs?"

"Both. We are greedy creatures, after all." His eyes flashed as he spoke. "It pleases me to see you wear my token."

She stroked the pendant, admiring it in the light. "Thank you."

"Which is why I am sorry to leave you."