Sarda: A Sci Fi Alien Romance: A Novella of The Ladyships

by Bex McLynn

  Relief flowed through him when Commander Harnic, a solid fixture in House Borac's fleet, strode through the airlock.

  The past ten years had aged Harnic—brightening his praal and dulling his black hair—but the man retained his familiar cordiality and greeted Dyr with a warm smile—just a small flash of his teeth.

  "Lady Vedma. Athel Dyrastur. It's my pleasure to welcome you aboard Vayant." Harnic dipped his head toward Vedma. "Lady Vedma, the Athel Hall and Chamber have been prepared for you."

  Harnic's immediate and confident address to Vedma didn't surprise him. Protocol dictated the priority status of the Athela's needs and comforts. He knew this. Expected it. Yet unwavering protectiveness flared inside of him, not wanting to be parted from her.

  Vedma shrugged her non-injured shoulder and flipped her hand. "Ech. Keep your Hall and Chamber. I'm stayin' with Dyr."

  Harnic raised his brow, his mouth dropping open, yet no immediate reply issued forth.

  She caught Harnic off guard, did she? Dyr practically growled, feeling so damn pleased. The moment would have been better had it been his father standing there, flustered, instead of good-natured Harnic.

  Dyr let a smile curl his lip, just a tad, and jutted his chin toward the airlock. "Just take us to the thane. He's aboard, isn't he?"

  Harnic stared blankly at him a moment, then blinked. "Aye, Athel. This way."

  The commander invited them to procede him through the airlock but then took point as he led them through the corridors. A unit of armored fleetmen surrounded them as well.

  Vedma walked before him, wearing her jumper from Kigen. She refused to wear any of the clothes found on the cruiser, so they simply laundered their jumpers throughout the voyage back into Tendex space. Her clothing was clean, but not the typical fluttery, flowery skirts that an Athela would wear. She clumped along in her too big boots. Still, he found her appearance magnificent. She walked with squared shoulders, and her chin held high, not in conceit, but in staid confidence.

  He also enjoyed the sway of her ass.

  That enticing sight, plus her sard solid demeanor, had his anthers twitching. Walking through the corridors of his house's spirenought with her had him radiating with pride.

  Harnic took them to the Thane Hall and Chamber. Whereas the Athel Hall and Chamber held ceremonial significance, the Thane Hall and Chamber doubled as an axillary command deck for the ship. Instead of a banquet table with the house standards hanging from the bulkhead, the Thane Hall held numerous console stations. It also contained large mounted Cuneiform displays ideal for conference communications.

  As they entered the Hall, the fleetmen remained outside, as did Harnic. Only Vedma and he continued inside, and he had to stamp down the urge to brush past her, all so that he entered first and shielded her from the man standing in the center of the Hall.

  His father, Thane Borac, awaited them with a rigid stance and a stern expression. He wore House Borac's crisp black uniform, practically indistinguishable from his men. Only, Dyr knew well his father's indomitable bearing.

  The passing decade had marked his father. His praal had grown more livid, appearing like electric turquoise veins all over his skin. His black hair dulled to the point that not a flicker of light reflected off the short fleet-shorn strands. His father towered over other men, but as Dyr approached him, he realized that he now looked his father squarely in the eyes. He also carried more muscle than his father, the man's shoulders looking narrow in the tailored uniform tunic.

  But his father's gaze retained its crafty, discerning glint. In fact, the years might have made it sharper in focus.

  His father ran that shifty gaze over them. "Lady Vedma. Dyrastur." Then his eyes honed on Vedma's belly. "It appears there is more news than you were willing to share over the comms."

  On the Cuneiform display to his father's left, a woman gasped.

  Dyr took a good look at the woman: Elder Megera from the Athela Academe. Like everyone else he had encountered thus far on Vayant, it had been over a decade since he last saw her. Her matte hair coiled about her head in a complicated coif. The jewels tucked into her locks gave off a sparkle meant to mimic a youthful sheen. She even wore makeup, attempting to tone down the brightness of her praal. Her carefully crafted appearance emphasized nothing but vain effort, not beauty.

  "Lady Vedma!" Elder Megera pressed a hand to her bosom, her eyes wide as she stared at Vedma through the display. "Thane Borac, please retire her to the Athel Chamber immediately and send a medic to assist her."

  Vedma rolled her eyes. "Quit your bellyachin’. I'm fine."

  Elder Megera stammered. "But you're... you appear to be... You look..."

  Dyr personally thought she looked gorgeous, standing before his father with her back straight and her composure unflappable. So he shifted closer to her and snarled, exposing his incisors.

  Vedma, though, shrugged her good shoulder as she turned her back to the display. "Ech. Looked worse."

  Elder Megera's expression hardened. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, the tell of a technopath accessing her talent, then she shifted her attention to his father.

  "I've notified Fleet, Thane Borac," she said with a scowl. "Expect to receive a fast cruiser at your location—"

  "Cancel the damn cruiser," Vedma griped. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

  Elder Megera gaped. "Pardon?"

  Dyr snarled. "You heard her just fine, Elder. Lady Vedma's not leaving House Borac. We're clutch."

  The older Athela looked at him. At first, her eyes passed vacantly over him, lacking recognition, but then her stare lingered on his neck and hands. Her lip curled. That seemed to be one of the two reactions that his clade tattoos triggered. Scorn or apprehension. He used to be self-congratulatory about the reaction his tattoos garnered from an Athela—the perfect repellent.

  Until Vedma. She alone gazed at his ink with admiration, even desire.

  Megera turned to his father, dismissing Dyr. "Thane Borac?"

  When his father remained silent, Dyr glanced toward him, only to find his father giving him a keen stare.

  "You're house, Dyrastur." His father hadn't posed a question, but in his fashion, issued a command.

  Dyr expected this, so he said evenly, "Aye. I'm house."

  His father dipped his chin. "You will swear so in the Athel Hall on Bulan Ero."

  Vedma turned to him, confusion on her face. "Dyr?"

  He placed his hand on her shoulder, hoping she'd understand his meaning.

  "Aye," he told his father.

  His father locked him in his stare a moment longer, and Dyr could see him calculating and assessing.

  Without a change in his stony expression, the thane crisply pivoted toward Elder Megera's display. "Unless you require anything further, Elder, House Borac needs to see after its own."

  The elder leaned forward in her seat with her hands fisted on the desk before her, and her lips parted, then she snapped her mouth closed and leaned back.

  "I pity you, Borac, bringing the Athela Anathema under your aegis." She shook her head. "Gods, to think that the universe provided that girl with a counterpart."

  Her eyes fluttered as she spoke, and the comm abruptly disconnected.

  But the elder's parting words echoed in the Hall, and Dyr had to snatch Vedma as she snarled and lunged. He couldn't help his grin or the pride that swelled in his chest as she spit insults at the empty Cuneiform display.

  His father approached him with clipped strides. "That wasn't a compliment, Dyrastur."

  "No." He beamed at his father. "It was honesty."

  His father leveled Dyr with a look, ignoring Vedma as she continued to wrestle against his hold. "One day on Bulan Ero to get your bearings, then the Athel Hall."

  "Aye." Dyr welcomed the laughter that colored his tone. "I'll be there."

  "Then it's good to have you back, Dyrastur." His father gave him a brisk head nod and strode away. "I have duties to attend to. It appears you've brought a prisoner and unmarked cruiser
along with you."

  Vedma stopped her struggles to scoff at his father.

  "Don't act all put upon," Vedma grumped at him. "You're itchin' to tear into this mess."

  His father paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Indeed." Then he ran his unreadable gaze over Vedma. "The pregnancy will be announced posthaste."

  His father left them alone in the Hall.

  Vedma snorted. "The pregnancy will be announced posthaste." She clipped her consonants, perfectly imitating his father.

  It absolutely astounded him. "So you can speak with a Teras Ero accent!"

  He laughed, but then barked like a damn fool as she spun to face him. With a scowl on her face, she attacked him with her one tiny fist, battering him everywhere but on his blast wound.

  "You're gonna swear again, Dyr?" She raged at him. "Again? How many godsdamn times do I have to thrash you before you'll stop all your godsdamn fuckin' oath swearin'!"

  He only had to capture one wrist, since the other remained bound in the sleeve. In response, she kicked at his shins with her too big boots.

  "For all the fucks, Dyr! Why do somethin' so damn pointless! We're clutch. You have me. I have you. Thane's got no say in my godsdamn clutch!"

  "Anti-clutch," he corrected her.

  She growled and tried to bite him.

  Ah, this was a delightful turn. For once, she appeared to have missed the point. So he gathered her close and let her tire herself out. Took a bit longer than he anticipated, jarring his side a few times, but this lady was worth the pain and the wait.

  Gods, this lady was worth everything. Even crawling back to his house. He gladly abandoned his life as an Unsworn.

  When she huffed and pressed her brow against his chest, he tucked his hand under her chin and guided her to look him in the eyes.

  "Did it for our daughter, Sarda."

  Her lips parted, but no words came out. Then softly she said, "Our daughter?"

  He stroked her cheek, enjoying a rare moment of Vedma being both pliant and dazed. If ever she was docile, this was the closest approximation.

  "Despicable people want a technopathic babe, but House Borac will never let her go. She'll be sheltered and protected by one of the fiercest houses in the Dominion." He watched her expression shift into something ferocious and protective. "My father has many flaws, but his unsavory and duplicitous nature will prove incredibly fortuitous in the here and now."

  Her brow crinkled.

  Fine, he could be more explicit. "He's a warmonger amongst the thanes."

  She nodded in understanding. "So your da kicks ass."

  He hadn't exhausted explicit terms, apparently. "Aye. I've given him an informant and an unmarked cruiser. He's about to kick many asses."

  He knew his father. That man left the Thane Hall with a spark in his eye, like a tyke eyeballing a cake.

  "Ech, he's a shifty bastard, Dyr," she grumbled. "We're gonna chafe like week-worn skivvies."

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I didn't need that image, Sarda, but I understand your sentiment."

  "Ain't namin' my babe after him," she grumped.

  "Thank the gods we're having a girl, then."

  "Name her after my da."

  He glanced down at her. "Your father has a girl's name?"

  She socked his gut. "Don't be an arse. It's Oxrannik. We'll feminate it."

  "That's not a word."

  "Ranne." She wrapped her good arm around him, careful of his injury.

  "Sounds lovely, Sarda."

  Epilogue

  "Just a bit longer, Sard Girl," her da said softly through her WristCune.

  Vedma kept her voice just as soft. "Sure, Da."

  Per her clutch contract, Thane Borac had her father transfered to another penal facility, one where inmates could make weekly comms. Right now, her da just wanted to watch his granddaughter sleep. Easy as anything to do this for him. She just lay in her bed and adjusted the angle of her arm, keeping the comm device's lens focused on Ranne.

  Her daughter slept, sprawled out on her tummy across Dyr's chest. He slept as well, with his massive hand spanning her entire back, keeping her securely in place. Her tiny, praal-free fist opened and closed, kneading the corner of a blanket that should have covered the entire bed. Somehow, that blanket got swaddled around only those two.

  Funny how all those long-gone months ago on the Gwyretti pipe, not only had Vedma been right about Dyr being an Unsworn Teras from a Great House, she had also been right about him not being a gentleman when it came to sharing a blanket. Apparently, their daughter hoarded blankets, too.

  Vedma curled on her side, her arm propped up to give her da the best view, and shivered. She didn't mind it. She'd been colder. Besides, a bit of shivering enabled her to gaze openly at Dyr and her daughter without anyone giving her sappy, sentimental looks in return.

  "A'right, lemme get a look at you," her da whispered.

  Well, anyone except her da.

  With a sigh, Vedma cooled her expression and re-angled her WristCune so she could look her father in the eyes. The years had aged him. His hair dulled around his temples and his praal had darkened, but it eased something inside her to see he still had that ever-present glint in his eyes.

  Those eyes roved over her like he tried to memorize everything he saw. "That arse still good to you?"

  "He's the best, Da."

  Her da gave her a fierce head shake. "You're the best. He just needs to be deservin'."

  She grumped and rolled her eyes. That response would let her da know how she felt. That Dyr was more than she could have ever hoped for. That the one who deserved Dyr most was Ranne.

  "Ech, a'right, Sard Girl." Her da chuckled. "No need to sass."

  "Ain't sassin'," she snipped.

  "You're sassin', and you know it." He looked away from the lens. When he turned back, he'd sobered. "Gotta go. You keep kickin' ass, aye?"

  She smiled at him and did her best to keep her tone even. "Aye, Da. Give 'em hell."

  He chuffed with a wry grin and ended the comm.

  Vedma returned her gaze to Dyr and their daughter. Ranne, who besides being a blanket thief, also proved to be a cuddler. Her daughter sighed in her sleep and burrowed closer to Dyr.

  "Ech," Vedma bemoaned softly as she ran the back of her fingers over Ranne's smooth, golden cheek. "Got too much of your da in you."

  Even with her heart bursting at the sight of them sleeping, she still felt restless. She could only stare at them for so long before her mind tumbled over horrid what-if scenarios. What if Dyr and she had never awoken on the Gwyretti pipe? What if she had never connected with Kie? What if Dyr's da hadn't cracked open that lower house conspiracy? What if—

  She softly growled to herself, bitter that all these months later, her mind still spiraled in quiet moments like this. So, she rose from the bed to let her loved ones sleep in peace.

  Dyr had settled them at Havrent, a modest manor-estate located on Bulan Ero, House Borac's homeworld. The surrounding countryside supported farming and herding communities, with the manufacturing and industry hubs centered on the southern continent. Up north as they were, Vedma and Ranne had acres of fields to roam and a small spaceport connecting them to the rest of the Dominion. Dyr also erected a prefabricated hangar where Vedma spent her free time, restoring a salvaged cruiser. Although, her projects rarely stayed confined to just the hangar.

  Vedma ventured out to her workbench, set into an alcove off the main living space. Clicking on a work lamp, she picked up her torque spanner and lost herself in decompiling a toroidal pile—a portable power source ideal for use with mobile Cuneiform consoles. It took her a bit to get comfortable working with components without Kie's presence hovering over her shoulder, helping to guide her hands. But she stuck with it—despite electrically burned fingers and a concerning trash pile of failed attempts—determined to retain what Kie had taught her.

  Perched on a high stool, she hunched over her latest project until a set of clade-inked h
ands obstructed her view. A cool body pressed along her back, accompanied by a chilled breath along her cheek. Dyr settled in behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

  "Couldn't sleep?" he rumbled into her ear.

  Shooing his hands away, she bent over her work. "Clade of marauders stole the whole damn blanket. Again."

  He kissed her right behind her ear and nosed her hair. "She's been banished to her crib."

  "That'll learn her," she said with a breathy moan.

  How could she not moan, or even concentrate, when those clade-inked hands that she had shooed away now slid up her ribs and caressed her breasts? Her nipples puckered under his stroking fingers and her clutchers stirred, aching to clamp down onto something thick and hard. That specific something pressed into her lower back as Dyr curled over her, cupping a hand under her chin and angling her up to meet his lips. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting refreshingly crisp and inciting tingles all over.

  When he gathered her close like this, all her what-ifs fled from the joy that spread through her. He somehow slipped past all her snark and barbs and handled her with passion and tenderness, giving her what she so desperately needed.

  Her tool dropped from her hand and softly clattered on the workbench. She reached back for him, arching her breast into his palm as she ran her hands over his short hair.

  Groaning, he crowded her even more, circling his arms around her as he rocked his hard length against her. "Tussle with me, Sarda."

  She spun on the stool to face him, her hungry hands reaching for him as her eyes ate up the view of his chiseled, tattooed chest. When he re-enlisted in Fleet, he'd shaved his hair but kept all his clade tattoos. Not a single drop of ink had been removed from his skin. Thank the gods. The Dominion might have declared him a gentleman once more, but he still remained her gritty bastard.

  Peeking up at him, she licked her lips and gave him a wry smile. "You got infant drool on your chest."

  Appearing undeterred, he gathered her up, hoisted her off the stool, and slid his hands under her ass.