Chapter Two
Nayan didn’t like leaving her laboratory.
Within her private working chambers, she was safe. She decided who did or didn’t enter the space. She didn’t have to listen to judgmental asshelmets boast about their genetic supremacy.
“My niece has nine solar cycles and she’s taller than you are.” Urus, the pilot and sole other occupant of the shuttle craft, mocked her as he flew the small vessel toward the site.
Her height was the least of her issues. She said nothing. The male didn’t require any response from her.
“And you’re investigating the crash?” He snorted, facing away from her, his gaze fixed on the main viewscreen. “Your superior is an idiot.”
She was the Head of Ship and Weapons Design on Chamele 2. Her superior was Khan, their Warlord, the fiercest warrior in the entire sector. No one with full grip of his faculties would ever call Khan an idiot.
Urus, however, didn’t know who she was. He took one look at her slight build and deemed her low on the hierarchy, likely believed her to be a trainee.
Chameles valued strength and size and she lacked both of those…as well as other attributes.
She tugged on her fingerless hand coverings.
“The warship was shot down because its pilot didn’t react fast enough.” Urus sneered. “Anyone could tell you that.”
It wasn’t her role to listen to that anyone. She was to uncover the truth, look for improvements that could be made in design to prevent the crash from happening again.
“Qulpa might have been good at flying solar cycles ago.” Urus was focused on his perceived competition. “But the old male’s time has passed.”
The old male had seven solar cycles more than she had and he could outfly beings with half of his solar cycles. He had earned his place as Second’s main pilot, was one of the best she’d observed…from the footage she’d gathered.
His voice on those recordings had turned her on. She suspected what that meant. Qulpa was her male, her warrior, the one being genetically meant for her.
After uncovering that unsettling truth, she ensured she avoided him. That wasn’t difficult to do. She rarely left her laboratory.
He wouldn’t be at the site this planet rotation. The crash had occurred the previous planet rotation and he’d been seriously injured.
She’d be safe.
“He refused to step aside.” Urus blathered on. He liked to hear himself talk. “Guess he’ll have to do that now.” He smirked. “I heard he lost all of his fingers in the crash. You can’t fly without fingers.”
And you weren’t a true Chamele unless you had claws. She touched her hand coverings again. True Chameles could also blend perfectly into their backgrounds, rendering themselves invisible. They could sense other Chameles.
Any variance to that spec was considered a freak, an abnormality to be hidden away from the world, to be shunned.
“They’ll have to replace him, and everyone knows I’m the best pilot.” Urus preened. “So be nice to me, trainee. I’ll soon be part of Second’s intimate circle.”
Yep, he did think she was a trainee.
Tiny metal legs touched her bare neck. She glanced downward, saw Hitch’s cute little face peering up at her.
The blasted bot had escaped the laboratory again. She pressed her lips together. He would draw unwelcome attention to her. Most pilots had a no unauthorized bots on the bridge rule.
Hitch warbled, rubbing his shell against her skin.
She hastily scooped him up and placed him in one of her pockets.
“What was that?” Urus looked at her.
“It sounded like the air recycling system.” That lie rolled easily off the tip of her tongue.
“This shuttle craft is a hunk of junk.” The male believed her because lying was considered to be dishonorable and normal Chameles prided themselves on their honor.
Normal Chameles had that luxury.
“It requires maintenance.” She defended the vessel she’d recently ordered modified.
“It needs to be scrapped.” Urus returned his attention to the main viewscreen. “You don’t see Qulpa—”
“Fly over the crash site.” She interrupted what was certain to be another rant about the male he clearly envied. “I’d like an aerial overview of it.”
She tapped on her private viewscreen, recording the images as they zipped by. That would help her piece together a full picture of the event.
“I don’t care what you’d like.” Urus scoffed. “My orders were to deliver you to the crash site, not give you a tour of it.” The asshelmet lowered the ship.
She considered pulling rank, decided not to. Her drones could cover the terrain as easily and they didn’t look at her as though she was unworthy of their attention.
The floor tiles rattled under her booted feet. She unfastened her harness, stood. Hitch peeked out of her pocket, his chirps blending into the engine noise.
“I’m their best pilot.” Urus repeated that as though saying it multiple times would make it true. “And I’m shuttling you around the planet. It’s insulting.”
She was investigating the crash of a warship, trying to save lives of pilots, of crew and passengers in the future. To do that, be part of that effort, should have been an honor.
She’d never understand organic beings.
Machines made sense. She exited the bridge, strode through the hallways, her private viewscreen in her hands. Urus didn’t accompany her, didn’t offer to help her unload her gear.
His help wasn’t needed. Her fingertips danced over her device. Straps unfastened. The doors opened. The ramp lowered. Packs rolled out of the ship.
She was accustomed to managing solo. All of her gear had wheels, were mechanized.
As she walked down the ramp, the scent of fuel assaulted her nostrils. She squinted, the sun’s rays temporarily blinding her.
The ramp retracted as soon as she stepped onto the pebble-covered ground. The doors closed. The ship lifted off, and in a heartbeat, it was gone.
“Asshelmet.” The male hadn’t waited to ensure she was safe.
She gazed around her. Seeking to disturb the site as little as possible, the ship had landed where the rescue ship had touched down. Debris was strewn everywhere. There was very little left of the bridge.
The crew was fortunate to be alive.
That was partially due to her designs. She stood straighter. For solar cycles, she’d refined the ships, making them safer, faster, more agile.
Saving the lives of this ship’s crew made that effort worthwhile.
Something bumped against her right leg. She looked down. Her packs had gathered around her, were nudging against her ankles, seeking to be opened, their contents utilized.
“Be patient.” She smiled as she tapped on the viewscreen, authorizing the unpacking.
Fastenings parted. Engines buzzed. Drones flew upward. Bots rolled out of the packs. They beeped happily, their lights flashing.
“Hitch, you can come out now, too.” She opened her pocket. “It’s safe.”
The little bot’s lights flashed as he climbed out of the small space, crawled up her body, and sat on one of her shoulders.
Scrapper beeped at him, asking what he was doing at the site.
Hitch chirped excitedly, waving his forelegs with great drama as he told his friend and the other bots and drones around them about his adventures on the bridge.
Urus was cast as the villain, a hater of all bots. Hitch saw himself as their creator’s brave defender, claimed to have protected her.
Nayan didn’t have the heart to correct the little bot. She waited for his story to end and then instructed the rest of her machine workforce to survey the site, recording every tiny detail.
That data would be inputted into her systems and analyzed.
There were some things that had to be experienced live. She walked the terrain with a chattering Hitch.
The remnants of the ship told the story of its crash landing. The tail had touched down first, dragged for a bit, then the weight snapped the body into two. The nose with the bridge ground forward, shredding as it moved. Miraculously it came to a stop after the floor underneath the crew’s feet was stripped away but before the soles of their boots had been dissolved.
The warriors had also been protected by their chairs. She touched the back of one. It was dented. Objects must have hit it. The seat had absorbed those strikes.
As she had designed it to do.
One chair had malfunctioned. Her heart twisted as she spotted the bloodstains. A pipe had pierced the back, punctured a hole directly through the warrior who had sat there.
He’d almost died.
Because of her poor design. She crouched, looked closer at the defective spot. Two panels had been fused together. That had weakened it.
“Shit.” How had she overlooked that? The panels should have been fused at the side. It—
A screech sliced through Hitch’s chatter. She gazed upward.
A field vulture swooped downward, its massive feathered wings spread wide, its talon-tipped feet reaching outward. Aerial, one of her drones, hovered over the ground, documenting a panel from the ship.
The creature clasped her unsuspecting machine and flew off with its prize.
“Come back here, you bastard.” Nayan slid her viewscreen into the pocket over her chest and ran after the field vulture.
Hitch trilled, sending the other drones after the field vulture, and clung to her shoulder.
“That drone belongs to me.” She jumped over rubble. “Drop it.”
The distance between her and the creature widened. Bits of her drone fell to the ground. Her bots retrieved the pieces.
“You don’t want it.” Her arm and leg muscles strained. “It’ll taste bad. I—” She tripped over a piece of console, toppled face-first.
Her landing would hurt. She braced herself for that pain.
A band of unrelenting something strapped around her stomach and pulled her upward. The air whooshed from her lungs. Hitch dropped to the ground, chirping with distress.
She was in no position to help him. Her back smacked against hardness. Her nipples tightened. Her pussy grew wet.
She panted, her mind spinning, her panic increasing.
“Easy.” Her rescuer’s low deep voice rolled down her spine, warming her all over. “You’re safe. I have you
She didn’t have to turn her head to identify him. She knew who he was—the one male in the universe she wanted to avoid.
Qulpa. Her warrior.
“You can let go of me now.” She squeezed her eyelids shut. Maybe if she didn’t look at him, he’d leave. Her life would revert to normal...or as normal as a freak’s life could be.
“I’m never letting go of you…gerel.”
Son of a Gechii. She was afraid that would happen. Her warrior believed their genetic bond was a gift, something to be cherished, protected.
Qulpa didn’t know his lifespan would be better lived with a female he had no fated connection to. Having children with that being wouldn’t be possible, but both of them would be accepted. They would belong.
Nayan stared down at the ground, feeling as shattered as the beverage container laying there, part of the ship’s debris.
She had to persuade him to walk away from her. That would be best for everyone. He would maintain his integrity. She could keep her secrets and her role as the Head of Ship and Weapons Design.
“I’m not your gerel.” She forced a laugh. “You must be feverish from your injuries, warrior. There’s no connection between us.”
That was a blatant lie. Their link was vibrant and strong.
If he uncovered that, he would view her as others did, as a being who lacked honor. And he would be correct.
She had discarded her honor the moment her parents and her sisters had discarded her. Her entire lifespan was a lie. The truth would destroy her.
“You can’t feel our connection?” He flipped her over, handling her as though she weighed nothing.
She was smaller than the average Chamele female but she wasn’t insignificant. “You heard me.” Out of principle, she limited her lies.
She lifted her chin, met his gaze. Stars. He was handsome, his face stark, his golden skin decorated with silver scars. His long black hair was streaked with gray, attesting to his number of solar cycles, to his experience. His eyes were dark, drawing her in.
He was perfect, the epitome of a Chamele warrior.
She was a freak.
A freak who wanted him, who desired him more than she had desired any other being. She had to get away from him. Her lips parted, another lie forming.
He captured her mouth, his flesh firm against hers, the pressure breaking her. Weak, so very weak, she opened to him. His tongue slid along hers, tangling, twining, feeding the vortex of passion swirling inside her.
He tasted of spice and male and belonging and she wanted to believe in him, in them. But everyone she’d ever had faith in had betrayed her. He wouldn’t be any different from them.
“Release me, warrior.” She extended her mechanical claws until the sharp tips pricked the skin at his neck.
His eyes glowed. “I am your warrior.”
“You are a warrior.” She lied yet again. “You’re not my warrior.”
He stared at her, his hold on her body tight.
With one jab of her manufactured weapons, she could kill him, yet he didn’t let her go. His courage impressed her, a truth she kept to herself.
His high forehead furrowed with thought lines. “You’re my gerel.” His nostrils flared as he breathed in. “You want me.”
Her face heated. Her gaze lowered to his square chin. “Crash sites turn me on.”
That awful lie would end them. Members of his team had been hurt during the crash, had almost died. He had been hurt, had lost fingers.
Her warrior would look at her with disgust, the same way he’d look at her if he uncovered the truth.
She’d seen that expression in her father’s eyes—the repugnance, cold and cutting, especially vivid when contrasted against the pride he’d displayed around her other sisters.
Her heart couldn’t take going through that again.
Moments passed. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything.
She peeked up at him. He appeared confused, not repulsed.
That, in turn, confused her.
“You’re lying.” His perceptively correct conclusion scared her. “I don’t know why you’re—”
High pitched trilling severed his words. Hitch jumped on Qulpa’s face, attacking him with everything he had…which wasn’t very much. The little bot poked the warrior’s nose with his tiny metal feet.
“Stay back.” Qulpa released her. “It might be dangerous.”
Her barbarian was attempting to protect her. He wouldn’t do that if he knew her secrets.
“That’s Hitch.” She retracted her claws and peeled the bot off his face. “And he’s not dangerous at all. He has designated himself as my defender.” She placed Hitch on her shoulder.
“Hitch.” Qulpa repeated that.
The bot chirped at him, tilting his head.
“Thank you for defending my gerel.” Her warrior peered at him. “That was very brave of you.”
Hitch puffed his metallic chest out and sang with happiness.
“Traitor.” She grumbled at her manufactured friend. Qulpa had won him over with a few words of admiration. “And I’m not your gerel. You’re in shock from your injury.” She glanced at the white gauze wrapped around his hands. “I was told you lost all of your fingers.”
The male winced. “I lost three of them.” He paused. “But I might as well have lost them all. I can’t fly with three missing fingers.”
And that pained him. She heard that in his voice. “You could be equipped with mechanical fingers.”
“That’s what my medic plans to do.” His lips twisted. “Mechanical fingers won’t be the same.”
Any sympathy she felt for him dissipated. “Normally I would say medics couldn’t be trusted but, in this case, your medic’s plan is the best one. Because you’re right. Your mechanical fingers won’t be the same. They’ll be better.”
He didn’t hide his disbelief.
Her warrior was like all of the others. She touched her hand coverings. He believed machines couldn’t offset organic weakness.
Once someone was a freak, she or he would always be a freak.
“Thank you for catching me.” Unable to look at the male without experiencing pain, she turned away from him, gazed down at the ground. Her bots had recovered the pieces of her drone, had brought them to her.
Hitch rubbed against her neck, his sounds concerned.
The damage looked bad, but thankfully, it only appeared that way. Relief coursed through Nayan as she perused the parts. She hadn’t lost a member of her mechanical family this planet rotation.
“Aerial will be okay.” She held up the drone’s case. “See? She’s alive.”
The eyes flashed. The small engine whirred.
“She needs some repairs and she’ll be good as new.” She handed the drone to a waiting bot. “Put Aerial in the pack. Carefully.” She cautioned him. “We’ll work on her as soon as we return home.”
She extracted her private viewscreen from her pocket and reprogrammed the other drones to cover the damaged machine’s terrain.
Her arousal didn’t decrease. She still needed, wanted, desired.
Her warrior hadn’t left her side.
“Tell me about the crash.” She didn’t gaze at him.
“Tell me why you are denying our connection.” He placed his uninjured hand on the small of her back.
She flinched, remembering other hands, not as gentle.
“You’re safe.” He repeated what he’d earlier told her. “I won’t hurt you.”
That was a lie, though he likely didn’t realize it. He had the ability to injure her. Greatly.
“I need to know about the crash to prevent another one.” She retreated into her role and tried to escape him, trudging through the wreckage.
He followed her. His palm remained on her back, a declaration of ownership that shouldn’t thrill her as much as it did.
“Do you plan to capture the renegade warrior?” His tone held genuine curiosity. “He was the cause of the crash.”
“Was he flying our AXT594 warship?” That warship had been reported missing.
“Yes.” Qulpa stood beside her, large and broad and extremely male. His fingertips swirled over her back, moving in soothing, sensual circles.
Hitch chirped, giving his input, the bot ignored by both of them.
Her warrior monopolized her thoughts. She had to force herself to focus on her assignment. “We didn’t increase the speed on that ship.” She had only improved its weapons and its energy efficiency. “You should have been able to outfly it.”
“If our ship had been fully operational, I could have done that.” He kicked a piece of panel aside. “One of our engines had malfunctioned.”
Her ship had failed him. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He lifted his eyebrows.
She’d made a mistake. “I’m apologizing on behalf of Ship and Weapons Design.” She preferred he believe what everyone else did – that she was a trainee, someone of no importance. “What was the malfunction?”
They discussed the faulty engine. Her warrior relayed details of the crash, giving her information only a skilled pilot would observe.
As they talked, she took the faulty seat apart, looking at all of the pieces. The ill-placed seam appeared to be the culprit.
“Your arousal hasn’t decreased.” His voice was quiet.
His arousal hadn’t decreased either. He sported the flimsy ass covering all Chamele males preferred, strips of leather attached to a leather waistband. The bulge in them was pronounced.
And large. Her mouth dried.
If she was a normal Chamele, if she didn’t have secrets, she would act on her lust, bond them together permanently.
But she wasn’t normal, would never be that way. Her truths had to remain hidden.
Which meant lying to her warrior, even if he didn’t believe her. “We haven’t left the crash site.”
He looked at her. For a heartbeat, she thought he’d call her on her unee shit.
“I’m Qulpa.” He finally told her.
“I know who you are.” She leaned over and patted Scrapper, the last returning bot. The tiny machine beeped and whirred, spinning with programmed happiness. “You came here to find your fingers, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know who you are.” The blasted male couldn’t be distracted. “And yes, I came here to find my fingers.”
“I suspect the field vulture ate them.” None of her bots or drones had detected remains. “They would be too decayed to be reattached, if that was what you were hoping to do.”
“That was what I was hoping to have done.” He helped the bot into its pack. There were scars on the male’s knuckles where his claws would extend. He was a normal Chamele. “What is your name?”
She sighed. He was persistent. She met his gaze. “Does it matter?”
He paused as though pondering the question. “My instincts say it does matter.”
“Instincts can be wrong.” She played for more time.
“Instincts have kept me alive.” He straightened to his full height. “I trust them. Tell—”
The rest of his words were drowned out by the rumble of a ship’s engine. She had been saved from answering by her transport back to the settlement.
Without a word, she turned and walked in the direction of the landing site.
“That wasn’t a request.” His voice boomed.
She stopped, the dominance in her barbarian’s tones making her pussy drip.
He would uncover her name eventually. He wasn’t someone who backed down from a challenge. And he had helped her with the investigation of the crash.
She couldn’t give him everything he wanted, but she could give him this.
“Nayan,” she murmured. “You can call me Nayan.”
“You’re Nayan.” Her warrior said her name with reverence. “The Nayan. Zondoo.”
Zondoo, indeed. She strode toward the waiting ship, leaving him and the future she could never have behind her.