by Bex McLynn
He rounded on her, crossing the cabin in two determined strides and herding her up against the bulkhead. She pressed herself flat against the hard surface, and her arms crisscrossed over her belly. Wouldn't do any good, and she knew it. The MediCune scanner beeped and processed, and thank gods for that because Dyr gave the device his full attention. Gave her time to release a shaky breath because she fucking already knew.
She'd braced with men before. Could take a cock deep, for a Teras woman. Her medullary bone had atypical arching, vaulting upward toward her womb. Led to some heated bracings as her partner burrowed further than he'd been expecting, but nothing like what just happened with Dyr and her. She fucking swallowed him whole, and that would only be possible if her pelvic medullary bone had been depleted, the osteon deposit therein supporting the growth of a baby.
She counted the thumps of her heart. Ticked off a good forty beats before she mustered the courage to look up at Dyr.
He still stared at the MediCune scanner, but his mouth had flattened to a hard slash. His nostrils flared with each icy bellow that feathered wisps of her hair and brushed chilled air along her cheek. The clade tattoos on his neck pulsed along with the clenched muscle of his jaw.
Vedma wrapped her arms around herself tighter. "And?"
With his hands white-knuckling the scanner, he said, "You're pregnant."
"Well, that explains it, then."
"Explains what?"
"My brilliant cunt."
Just like that, he sagged. His arms fell lax to his side, and with a flick of his wrist, he cast the MediCune scanner onto a cot.
"Vedma," he said her name so tenderly, she reared back, knocking the back of her head against the bulkhead. "How do you feel?"
She snorted. "Shocked."
He nodded his head. "You look shocked." He took a deep breath, released it. "Do you know who?"
"Fuck who," she snapped. "I don't even know how."
"How?"
With her back to the bulkhead, she snarled. "I damn well know the hows 'bout it. But I ain't braced with anyone in months. And I'm on a conception blocker."
Again he nodded his head. "Scanner says you're only a few weeks along."
"Then I don't fuckin' know."
"Of course." More of his courteous head nodding that had her fists aching to pummel him.
He turned, shuffling his feet, and cast his eyes about the cabin. Her lip curled in response.
She knew this treatment. Cold shoulder, clipped words, dodging eyes. All reasons why she stopped bracing with quality. Why she skipped over any arse with a title in favor of eager, younger men who carried no recommendation. Men who would never appear on the other side of a clutch negotiation.
He faced the opposite direction. "They did this to you."
"What now?"
Dyr hauled his foot back and punted a crate across the room, smashing it against the hard bulkhead.
"They fucking did this to you, Vedma!" Barefooted, he kicked another crate.
Wonder cascaded over her. Oh, Direis, she beseeched thee to preserve her body, since her heart saw fit to skip a thousand beats. Witnessing Dyrastur fucking Borac in a rage—meting out destruction on her behalf—flattened her. Scrambled her compass as her entire universe realigned.
"Without your godsdamn permission! They just—"
She launched herself at him, latching onto his arm. "Dyr! Easy! Easy now."
He fumed. "Just, dammit, Vedma."
Needing to do something for him, she drew him close to the cot and scooped up the MediCune scanner. "Your turn, Dyr."
"My turn?"
She waved the scanner at him. "Just, let's scan you. Make sure you're good."
He growled; she heard his frustration. "Vedma."
"Dyr." She measured her tone—not a snip, just firmness. "If we're doin' medical checkups, then it's your go. Best to know if there's anythin' else we're dealin' with."
He huffed, then nodded his head. "Aye. You're right."
She scoffed. "Course I am."
With his body still tense, he submitted to her, letting her run the MediCune scanner over him. She clutched the scanner in both hands and tried to ignore her quaking. The screen flashed its results.
She exhaled a shaky breath. "You're good. Healthy. Good."
With no trace of a conception blocker in his system, either.
An itchy notion chilled her. As she flinched inwardly, away from the cold, Dyr closed his hands over hers. Gently he extracted the scanner from her. Again he tossed it aside. Without a word, he reeled her close, wrapping his arms about her.
She pushed against him. "Stop it, you arse. I ain't a hugger."
He shushed her. "This is for me, not you."
She laughed and bounced her forehead off his sternum, determined to hold the onslaught of grim revelations at bay. Whoever these kidnapping arses were, they impregnated her, stuffed her into a cryo-bin, and left her stranded in space.
"Shit, Dyr.” She pressed her fists against his cool skin. "Just, shit."
"We'll figure this out, Vedma. We will. I am Teras. You—"
Unholde take this idiot. Not this shit again.
She pulled her fist back and socked him in the gut. Fucking put her back into it, too.
He wheezed. "Gods! What the hell?"
She socked him again on the shoulder. "I'm pregnant, not dyin'! You ain't gonna swear shit to me!"
He cradled his stomach. "Vedma, use your head. Whose baby do you think you're carrying?"
She opened her mouth to snip back at him, but he barreled onward, crowding in close to her again but keeping his arms banded about his middle.
"It's the only reason they took me," he said, his eyes flashing with anger. "The only reason why I'm here. Only reason why I'm still alive."
He flung an arm out toward the destruction strewn about them.
"They've got a horde of supplies here. Definitely enough to last a pregnancy." He directed his gaze lower, toward her belly. "To watch that tyke grow and see if technopathy develops. Enough to try again. And again. And fucking again."
Vedma sagged back against the bulkhead. Her gumption crumbled beneath the piling evidence before her and its heavy implications.
Oh, hell. Someone was breeding them.
Chapter Five
Vedma sat on the cot as cascading thoughts flooded her mind, sinking her like a boat in a gale. The headaches. The nausea. The fatigue. She hadn't been suffering any lingering effects from stasis or slugged down by the ailing systems of the barge. She'd been experiencing pregnancy symptoms.
Talk about blowback. She knew not to tussle with Dyr, yet if she hadn't, they wouldn't have known about her pregnancy. Because of that unexpected boon, right there, she'd not lament over any should've dones. She typically made a point of not leaving anything in her past kicking and screaming; it meant very little bit her in the ass later on. For this, though, she'd have to make an exception. No obliterating Dyr. He was gonna be a da.
Her shoulders drooped as she settled her hands on her belly. Gods, she missed her own da right now. He was a gruff bastard with a chipped incisor who always grumbled tough words with a tender glint in his eyes. Best damn da in the Tendex. He'd whoop like a tyke at a carnival knowing he'd be a gappa.
Stuck on Kigen, with no transport and no comms, she had no way to tell him.
Her chest clenched in shame.
Gods, her da would cuff her ears if he knew she sat there wallowing. He raised a technopathic child, a prized girl, on a mining barge filled with Unsworn Teras. He and her uncles reduced to gristle any arse dumb enough to give her heated looks before her praal budded. But they had always been on borrowed time. Although her praal appeared late, her body still matured, curving and mounding. Then some handsy rock muncher who had taken one too many thrashings ratted her out to TerTac. She was a female technopath who wasn’t sequestered at the Athela Academe. An armored flotilla had blockaded their barge for a month until she pleaded with her da to give her up.
She cast her eyes about the cabin, taking in the mess. Dyr had lashed out, then had stormed out. Left her on her own for hours. She didn't waste a lick of time whining over his treatment of her. He'd been wronged, same as her. No one had asked his permission, either. She saw how he wanted to thrash someone so badly that his entire body had trembled.
She accessed the ship's local AthNet. Rather than sit and pat her hand, Dyr's WristCune placed him in the maintenance bay. She suspected that the man applied himself to some purposeful task, while she sulked on her praal-puckered ass.
A foolish thought tore through her. No one sat by, ready to hand him his tools.
Spurred by concern, she jammed her feet into her oversized boots and clopped her way to the maintenance bay.
She found him, hunched over a workbench, sparks flying, as he ran a torch over an armored breastplate.
Her heart sank as she watched him.
The man patched ruined armor. His gut response to her pregnancy had urged him to mount a defense rather than secure their escape.
She looked over the armor that he must have pulled from one of the dead kidnappers. Knew she didn't have the heart to tell him that his protective fervor wasted his time, their time, by having him salvage tack too small for his frame.
Using her technopathy, she toggled the lights in the bay, off and then on, to gain his attention. In the scant second of pitch darkness, the plasma from the torch illuminated him with bright blue light that shaded his skin green while intensifying the thick lines of his turquoise praal.
He snapped his head up and spun toward her, the torch in one hand, that damn sword in the other.
Vedma froze, too startled to even throw up her hands.
He barked out some words, probably a curse, muffled by the welding mask he wore.
He slammed the sword onto the workbench, switched off the torch, and raised his mask. He frowned fiercely at her. Fatigue marred his face with dark smudges beneath his eyes.
"Gods, Vedma," he heaved, his voice dry and thin. "Could've skewered you."
She recounted Dyr's recent whereabouts, starting with the moment she left him alone in the control room. When she saw him next, he'd come shuffling into the cabin seeking his cot and found her tickling her own clyccana. They almost tussled, found out about her pregnancy, and then Dyr busted a few crates. Now he mucked with the armor. Based on her estimate, he must have been awake for a full day cycle now, trying to stick the course with nothing but a measly puff to fill his sails. He needed to sleep before he soldered his own hand off or poked a hole through her.
She marched up to him. "Dyr, you're gonna hit the bunk now."
His eyes darted away from her, landing on the breastplate as he shook his head. "I'm not done here."
"Just for a bit."
"This needs to get done," he said firmly as his eyes flicked to her belly. "Just another hour or two, then you're good."
"I'm good?"
"Leg bracers weren't damaged." He pointed to another workbench where he laid out more armor. "While you're here, I can fit you with a helmet."
Her mind cartwheeled with understanding. "You're patchin' it for me?"
There must have been something in her tone because he gave her a wounded look. "Of course, Vedma. I won't leave you unprotected."
"Oh, Dyr." She went straight for him and reached out.
His expression softened.
She rolled her eyes and cuffed him on his ear.
"Dammit, Vedma!" He gaped at her. "Stop hitting me!"
"Armor does me shit, Dyr. You're too big to duck behind me." She rapped his chest with her fist. "If you're patchin' armor, patch it for yourself."
"I won't be ducking. I'll be taking damn blaster fire for you! Gods, what kind of man do you think I am?"
She snarled at him. "A dead one. What good is your corpse gonna do me? I need you," she rapped him again, "in the fuckin' armor."
He shook his head. "Won't leave you defenseless."
"Course you won't, you arse. You'll be kitted in armor, thrashin' bastards." She knocked him on the shoulder, punctuating each word with a bash from her fist. "You'll be protectin' us."
He flinched, stepping back as if her pathetic pummels rocked him. Frustrated, she struck at him again. He was such a big bastard that her fist started to ache.
He snatched her by her wrist. "Enough, Vedma."
His tone held no heat. His grip lacked pressure.
With sluggish movements, he tugged the welding mask from off his head, setting it aside.
He sighed. "What do you want from me?"
She scoffed. Hadn't she been clear? "Want you in a bunk."
He chuffed a dry laugh and shook his head as if her demand defied sense. "You want me."
Want him? Of course, she wanted him. Wanted him even knowing that she shouldn't have him. Here and now, though, he was hers to keep, and she took care of her own.
With her free hand, she slapped at him again. Smacking the center of his chest, she fisted his undershirt and tugged him forward. Like a docking arm latched onto a spaceship, she easily maneuvered him in his current spaced out, exhausted state. Although, she did let him double back for his pointy little sword.
Didn't want him? Gods, she wanted to pummel him and jump him all at the same time.
Without any words volleyed between them, she led him back through the corridors and into their shared cabin. Foregoing finesse, but plying copious grit, she shoved him onto a cot. Watched him topple like a felled tree crashing down in the forest.
Only, he still held her wrist. Dropping the sword on the deck, he dragged her down, too. Off balance, she tumbled toward him, and despite his tiredness, he caught her. Eased her landing and settled her over him.
"Dyr," she growled in protest.
"I'm right where you want me." Then his mouth cracked open in a yawn. "Just stay for a bit, Sarda."
"Fine," she huffed.
He settled beneath her. "You're the best blanket."
"You're the shittiest mattress." She laid her cheek on his chest. "All lumpy."
"Lumpy because someone kept lumping me." His fingers stroked her bare arm.
She shivered and grumped. "Tryin' to get the lumps out."
"Lumping a lump only makes a bigger lump. Thought everyone knew that."
"Gods, you're an arse." And she wanted him desperately.
He shushed her, the rumble pressing up through his chest to vibrate hers. "Blankets don't talk."
She grumbled, and he gave her a squeeze, firming his hold on her. If his arms went lax, she took no notice. Last she felt, his fingers traced the praal on her arm, lulling her to sleep.
Dyr dreamed of her praal. Of fine, delicate lines that had him gentling his touch, fearing he'd shatter her into pieces. Yet the more he feathered his touch, the more her chilled flesh pressed up into his hands. He felt like a child, trying to not smudge the window as his fingers tracked the rain rolling down the glass. With so many cascading droplets, he would just flatten his palm to the pane, determined to map them all.
"Dammit, Dyr."
Even in his sleepy imaginings, her voice rocketed straight to his cock, chilling his blood and coiling his muscles.
"Touch me." A sharp little nip on his neck accompanied that scolding.
With a groan, he turned his head, nestling his nose into her hair as his mouth hunted out her neck, seeking the hollow beneath her jaw. Her temper always flared inside that sweet little divot, pulsing it with her emotions. Her tell. He foolishly mused that it beat like a drum for him.
He closed his mouth over her skin,
first grazing with his teeth, and then chasing the sting with his tongue.
"Harder," she hissed, her voice laced with impatience.
She showed him how by clamping down on his trap with a firm bite that had him clasping her close. He tangled one hand into her hair, urging her to apply more pressure, while the other hand palmed her ass, anchoring her pelvis as he pressed up against her.
"Dyr."
She moaned his name over and over until he silenced her with a kiss—a kiss that scraped teeth and entwined tongues and fueled desire.
An urgent notion sparked in his mind, trying to ignite his drowsy arousal. Vedma. He held Vedma in his arms.
He jolted from his dream and connected with the waking world just as Vedma wrapped her hands around his cock, stroking him from anthers to head. Her tugging caress pulled a groan up from his damn toes that seared through his gullet and contracted his stomach muscles. His voice thrummed throughout the cabin. Gods, never in his life had he made a sound so insatiate and desperate.
"Dyr." Her voice radiated through him. "Wake up and tussle with me."
Astonished, he stared up at Vedma. She had risen up, poised above him on her hands and knees. Her voice held no barbs, instead dripping with honey-thick reverence and appetite. With her face blushed blue and her eyes heated and heavy, he beheld a wondrous creature. Passion softened all her edges. She no longer jabbed like a pikestaff, but rippled like a banner, curling with the breeze that blew her toward him.
He surged up, eager to grasp onto her before the air currents carried her off. Dyr curled himself around her as he kissed her. He thrilled as her hands tore at his clothes, peeling back his greasy layers and exposing him to more of her whirlwind. She twisted and coiled him, swept him up as she laid him down. Anchored him to the cot with her hands pressing down on his chest. Battered him with gusty kisses as she straddled his hips. Blinded him with sunshine as she sank down over him, her body welcoming him deep inside.
"Gods, Sarda." He gripped the metal frame of the cot, resisting the desire to drive his hips upward.
Her clyccana entwined with his anthers while muscles deep inside her cunt clutched his cock. Even with his legs stiff as planks, his spine bowed, rocking his hips. Mortified, he sucked in his gut, trying to decrease his penetration.