Daxon's Hostage (Alien Bounty Hunters Book 6)

by Michele Mills

  She glanced over at Daxon and placed her own tablet in her lap, then she leaned her head back into the chair and sighed, trying to enjoy this domestic peace. This was a nice evening and dinner had been delicious. But she couldn’t enjoy any of it because she was a bundle of nerves and worry. She started biting at her nails. Was Dad okay? How was Mom? And where the hell was Hector? Why wasn’t he answering? She shifted in her seat again, trying to relax, but for all she knew Gurpreet could’ve hired an army of mercenaries to storm her family’s farm and it could be burning to the ground right now.

  Daxon messaged Kayzon of Twenty-Seven, the Xylan Ambassador to New Earth, asking him to look into the whereabouts of her brother and the safety of her family. He seemed content to wait out the outcome of this, thinking this would solve the problem, but Darcy was still on edge. Daxon had told her to trust him, but she’d never feel at peace until she knew her family was okay.

  The cleansing unit on the wall in the restroom chimed, letting her know their clothing was finished. She hopped up from her seat, nervous energy making her grateful for something to keep her busy. She placed the tablet on her empty seat and walked inside the bathroom to sort clothes, and then she noticed something was wrong.

  She twisted around in the small space, then stepped out of the restroom and looked around. “Where’s the wedding dress?” she asked.

  “Dress?” Daxon answered, continuing to tap on his tablet. “I put that pile of fabric in the incinerator.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You did what?”

  He glanced up. “You said you were never wearing it again.”

  “I also said it was bespoke and very expensive. Even though you tore the back it was still salvageable. We should’ve kept it…”

  His features darkened “No. You’re never wearing that dress again.”

  She threw her hands up. “Of course I’m never wearing it again, but Daxon, you lost your job on Timbor…” And his ship was a piece of shit. Not that she wanted to say that to his face, but he was obviously down on his luck at the moment. She’d already been concerned with how he was going to take care of the two of them, considering he’d just started this job. “I know things must be tight right now and you don’t have much currency and that dress could’ve helped. We could’ve sold that dress, people back on New Earth would’ve paid a lot of currency for it.”

  He crooked an eyebrow, or really a set of his ridges moved up. “I do not need to keep a human’s dress to resell it to gain currency. I was an Illibrium miner,” he explained. “And I never spent much because I was focused on my job and career and had no Bride or immediate line. All of my currency gained from my former position is currently invested in Gravian securities.”

  “Oh. Are you rich?” she asked, surprised.

  He looked back down at his tablet. “I have plenty of currency,” he said absently. “My portfolio is currently monitored by a Gravian wealth management company.”

  Oh yeah, he was rich. She glanced around at his plebian quarters. “You hide it well,” she muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing… Okay, well in the future I’d appreciate if you asked me first before throwing my stuff into the incinerator.”

  He grunted an acknowledgment.

  She frowned and continued to put away his clothes and her own work outfit in the cabinet, carefully avoiding his Cabul. Yesterday she’d opened a special cabinet and accidentally revealed Daxon’s set of terrifying Xylan ceremonial weapons. She wasn’t making that mistake again. One heart attack was enough, thank you very much.

  She’d cleaned his entire room earlier that diurnal, top to bottom and now the floor was clear and there was a place for everything, which should be reassuring. But she was still on edge.

  She couldn’t reach her family to verify their safety and a scary crazy guy was after her and… Daxon had thrown her dress away in the incinerator without even asking first! Why the hell would he do that?

  Her mind continued in that same direction, running through her worries, her fears and how Daxon wasn’t helping at all.

  She stayed inside the restroom to change into pajamas and then she went to lie down on the bunk and pulled the bedding up to her neck, silently fuming.

  Daxon stood up and tossed his tablet back onto the seat of his empty chair. He stretched his massive arms and yawned. “I sent you our work schedule for tomorrow.”

  She pursed her lips. He’d done that today too—sent her a schedule for the both of them to follow. It included their breaks and when they’d finish for the diurnal and what they needed to accomplish. When he’d sent it to her this morning after they’d eaten breakfast she’d loved it because she enjoyed remaining busy and feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was good to have a check-off list of things to accomplish, and she liked that he felt the same. But this time she wasn’t so easily appeased.

  He started stripping in front of her again. The tunic came off, exposing his perfectly flat and muscular stomach. His wide shoulders. The trim waist.

  Godsdammit.

  She was lying there yet again with his luscious scent wafting over as he took all his clothes off and changed into pajamas and exposed his naked body to her, not even bothering to go into the restroom.

  “You’re doing that on purpose,” she gritted.

  “Doing what?” he asked innocently as he undid his trousers and started to push them down.

  She turned to face the wall because she wasn’t going to let him get her hot and bothered and left totally unsatisfied. Again. “Why can’t you change in the restroom like I do and stop flaunting your body?” she clipped.

  “Flaunting my body?” he laughed. “I’m not human so I don’t feel the shame you do for bare skin that is not in proximity to touch.”

  “But I am human, and you can at least try to think of how your naked body affects me. It’s not fair.”

  “And exactly how does seeing my naked skin affect you?”

  Her jaw clenched. She huffed, sat up to face him and threw an angry gaze over at the male who’d barely finished pulling his sleep pants over his hips. His entire perfect chest was exposed to her. All that dark gorgeous skin and those hard muscles. She was so on edge from all the sex she wasn’t having she couldn’t see straight. All he did was constantly plan out and implement tiny events of sexual tension throughout each diurnal to push her into finally breaking down and accepting his hand. The torture of having this male so near and unable to touch and the havoc he was wreaking on her body… How could a girl be expected to live with such a sexy, handsome male who was throwing himself at her, and yet he was unable to pleasure mate? He couldn’t kiss or touch. Nothing.

  “Stop this, stop all of this!” she cried out. “I’m not your Bride. Stop being so nice to me. Stop being right there when I need you and brushing yourself against me. Stop comforting me. Stop listening to all my stories and asking me about myself. And stop, stop making me my favorite foods and drink.”

  “I’m obviously a terrible being.”

  “You are!”

  “You feel this way because I am not of your species. If I were human you’d be pleasure mating with me,” he accused, “but because you have to first test with me, you won’t touch me.”

  “Daxon, if you could pleasure mate we’d be having sex right now.”

  He stared at her, his face a mixture of shock and anger. “You admit this?” He gestured to the bunk. “We’d already be…”

  She ran her fingers through her hair. “Yes, I can’t hide it from you. You can smell how I feel. But you can’t…” She gestured at him. “Get it up.”

  He took a step closer, his hazel eyes dark and stormy. “Do not doubt my abilities, Darcy of One. I am unmated and therefore a celibate virgin, but I can pleasure you, if only you would let me.”

  “Ugh. But in order to have sex with you, I have to marry you. Why can’t we touch without making a life-long decision? Why do I need to marry anyone? Why am I always being pressured into marriage? Can’t
I just be left alone to take care of myself? This is the third time in a row a male is trying to rush me into marriage. Why is it all so hell-fire important that you test with me right this second?”

  “Because you will leave me in two diurnals and I will potentially never see you again. By your own word I only have this limited time to convince you or you’re leaving for good. And also, there is the fact that a lazhul wants you as his own mate and we can easily prevent this with a single touch.”

  She fisted her hands and slammed them down on the bed. “Daxon, I’m not marrying anyone. Ever. I’m done with marriage. And I’m not your Bride.”

  “You ARE my Bride!” he roared.

  “I’m not!” she shouted back at him. “How can you possibly know I’m your Bride just by looking at me and smelling me? It’s ridiculous.”

  He used his claw to point toward the ceiling. “Because the godsdamn ship scanned you and confirmed you’re my mate. When I first saw you on my bunk, I knew I had a stowaway, but how could anyone have gotten on board and snuck into my quarters? When I left the ship, the security was on. This is a Bounty Hunter ship and they take very seriously the proprietary patent they have for their lockdown stasis pods. This ship may be small, but it has a sophisticated security system. The reason why it let you enter and gave you full clearance was because it not only took vids of you and checked you against existing databases, but it also gave you a genetic scan and discovered you were my mate. This is why you’ve always had full access onboard this ship. If you hadn’t been my mate the ship would’ve put you in semi-stasis and alerted the authorities.”

  “Really?” she squeaked and glanced around accusingly at the ship she’d grown fond of.

  “Yes.”

  “And now that you know I have two types of evidence to confirm that you are my future mate, are you ready to try testing so I can pleasure you?”

  She huffed and rolled over. “No.”

  11

  Darcy was working in the bowels of the ship the next morning, trying to double-check the placement of the part Daxon had installed himself at SDS, when she realized she was probably being too hard on the Xylan male who wanted to be her mate.

  Ugh.

  She dropped her tools into a nearby tray and huffed out a sigh as guilt heated her gut.

  Last night she’d yelled at him. Told him that she wasn’t ever going to accept his touch.

  But she was here, in her element, doing the work she loved because of Daxon. He was the one who’d given her this occupational clothing—he’d given her these socks and cut up and reworked a pair of his own shoes to reasonably fit her, so she didn’t have to walk around bare foot or in high heels anymore. He hated her heels and said they were dangerous and stupid, and he didn’t understand why she’d wear such a thing.

  A man who didn’t want her wearing high heels or walking around half naked?

  She let out a snort.

  She was now wearing two layers of tunic and a pair of his trousers with the legs rolled up twenty times and an enormous belt keeping it all together. It wasn’t the best and she was sure she looked silly in the whole thing, but still it was good enough for her to work in.

  He’d given her all of these clothes yesterday before he’d let her out on her own to look around his ship, wanting to make sure she was safe and secure in proper work clothing before he’d walked away from her to do his own work on the bridge.

  She reached forward and recalibrated a sensor and pursed her lips, remembering how Daxon had claimed the ship had told him she was his mate, that the computer had been able to drill down into her genetics and identify her as someone’s mate.

  Last night she’d tossed and turned, wondering—was he right? Was this ship that sophisticated? She trusted computers and machinery more than she trusted sentient beings. Machinery had no ulterior motive, it simply followed prescribed tasks and routines and spit out the proper information.

  Because she was such a disbelieving bitch, she’d checked the security log for evidence to support Daxon’s claim, and sure enough there it was, exactly what he’d claimed. Next to the time/date stamp it literally said in red letters: Mate. Along with an outline of their genetic pairing and a true lock vid of her arrival. Yes, this was why she’d been allowed onto the ship and into his bunk in the first place, and why even now the computer easily allowed him to log her in and give her administrative access to the Bounty Hunter ship’s systems. The security system trusted her that much. Daxon trusted her that much.

  He’d inhaled her scent, known that the computer had let her in, and that was all he’d needed to know.

  And meanwhile she’d been pushing him away and going on and on about how she was leaving him the first chance she got.

  Shit. This was wrong.

  She rested the tablet on her stomach, thinking of all the implications. She couldn’t leave him without at the very least trying out testing. But her stomach sank at the thought of formally tying herself to anyone.

  The real reason she hadn’t wanted to test with Daxon was because she knew he’d been right all along—they’d clasp hands and be a match. No matter how often she’d told him it wouldn’t happen, deep down she’d been terrified it would. And that was why she refused to test, because of what she’d been saying—she hadn’t wanted to marry anyone, she wasn’t ready. Daxon had the bad fortune to appear in her life and request for her hand at the exact moment when she wanted nothing to do with men.

  But, after all he’d done for her, she couldn’t possibly leave him high and dry. There was still a slight margin for error. Maybe the testing would prove false.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Of course it would be positive. And then she’d be married and pregnant. Bam. Bam.

  He’d explained Xylan mating customs to her. First, there was the testing to see if they were mates. Often these proved false because two Xylan would enjoy each other’s company, or just want to bind two strong houses together and then they’d see that they were not mates and then would each go their own way. But if it was positive, he’d said she’d have to immediately go through a claiming ceremony. A claiming ceremony was where they’d have sex for the first time in a holo deck representation of a Xylantic forest, the ancient forests where all Xylan performed their claiming ceremonies with their mates. He would chase her and she was to prove her own power by fighting him off as long as possible before he mounted her. And it would be recorded for their later viewing.

  She couldn’t just kiss him and get down to business in their bunk. First, they’d have to go through with a formal touching of palms and if that proved positive (and what would make it seem positive—his dick getting hard?) then there would be a knock-down-drag-out in a forest where she’d fight him off until he fucked her in the dirt?

  None of this was sounding as terrible as it did when she’d first met him.

  If she was going to touch this male’s palm she had to be ready to accept the consequences.

  Married to Daxon and pregnant with his offspring? Living with him forever… She’d known she wasn’t going back to New Earth anyway. That part of her life was over. And she’d told Daxon that all she wanted was to eventually make her way to Omega 9 to start her life over. Well, what was so special about Omega 9? There were jobs and nice quarters there, but she’d also be alone and without Daxon if she went there.

  Daxon had met her and instantly began planning their future together—couldn’t she do the same?

  She could live and work with Daxon doing some kind of job for the Bounty Hunter Station or their fleet of ships. Maybe she could even go with him on his missions in order to monitor his ship? She had zero interest in being a Bounty Hunter herself though, she wasn’t someone who wanted to track down hard-to-get criminals on the edges of the universe. Working quietly with machinery and computer interfaces, finding solutions that made systems and robots function more effectively, this made her day.

  This all meant she was actually fine with the idea of giving up the Omega 9 plan and trans
ferring her future to the Hunter Station. Actually, starting this new life with Daxon at her side sounded pretty darn perfect. She’d be with a man she’d befriended, who she was ridiculously attracted to—a male who wanted nothing more than to be her mate. The man who was even now doing his best to track down her brother and her family and to protect her from the lazhul who’d forced her into marriage.

  Lazhul? She was even starting to think like him.

  Well shoot, not mating with this guy was starting to sound stupid.

  Okay, she’d tell him tonight as they ate dinner together in his quarters that she would test with him when they reached the Hunter station. That would still give her another diurnal of freedom. She’d let him know that she wasn’t going to leave without giving him that testing.

  And then she smiled, thinking of how pleased he’d be, and warmth blossomed in her chest, because she cared greatly about making Daxon happy.

  He was her friend.

  He was her…everything.

  She shook her head. Well, it looked like she was getting married after all.

  And right then the entire ship went off-line and the sirens started blaring.

  “Oh shit.”

  Daxon was inside the cleansing unit when the lights cut out and the alarms went off.

  “Engines off-line,” the computer intoned pleasantly.

  “Oh hell,” he groaned.

  He was falling in love with his human but…she’d been tinkering with every single system on his ship for two full diurnals now. Had she finally gone too far?

  “Computer, initiate vid with Darcy of One,” he requested, wanting to check on her safety.

  “Unable to establish connection.”

  He cursed and immediately banged out of the cleansing unit and sprinted from his quarters, naked and wet. He pounded down the hallways, having no idea of her exact location, but he assumed his female must be on the bridge and inside the engine compartment. This area was essentially the brains of the entire ship, and her favorite spot.