ThunderClaw: Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 2)

by Penelope Fletcher

  How could he think of leaving?

  About to verbalise my refusal, I was grabbed around the waist and hauled backwards into the pitch black.

  Beowyn moved. He took my assailant to the ground in a gravity defying manoeuvre I failed to follow with my eyes. Teeth bared and arm raised to strike, his lethal claws flexed, ready to cleave a head in a single stroke.

  A flash of starlight allowed me a glimpse of reddish hair.

  Hefting up, I clung to Beowyn’s bicep, a whoosh of stunned breath leaving me when his solid arm didn’t move although my body weight slammed into, and then hung off it.

  Conscious of the alien horde barely fifty feet from our scuffle, I remained silent. I pressed my breasts into his side and brought my lips to his ear.

  ‘It’s Patrick,’ I breathed.

  A silver stud brushed my trembling lip. Musky sweat, malted breath and petrichor–wet and earthy–swamped my nose but was replaced with drifting smoke from the torches below. My heart raced as I thought of my family at the mercy of their inhumane captors, and how wrong the last few seconds might have gone.

  The muscles in my hands and shoulders ached as I clutched Beowyn. I pulled harder when he hesitated to shift from attack mode.

  Jerking back, he scooped me up.

  Patrick fell forward and quietly gasped for air.

  Beowyn took a large step back and squatted, me perched on his knee. The feral energy emanating from him dissipated. His eyes reflected the meagre light, flicking here and there as he took in our surroundings.

  Patrick grimaced and stretched his neck. He pointed into the unrelieved darkness. Rolling onto his hands and knees, he rose into a shambling crouch then led us away.

  Beowyn set me down then pushed on my rump.

  I swallowed my protest. Patrick might have stashed Fergie somewhere, and the thought got me moving. I had the utmost confidence they’d rescue the others. Until then, I was aware we needed to figure out a plan, and, maybe, I could finally hold my daughter and get her safe. We crept through the jungle for a good hour before Beowyn signalled his satisfaction in stopping. That we had to move so far to avoid being discovered rammed home the precariousness of our situation. A hunting party could stumble on our camp and stalk us within feet before we knew they were there.

  ‘Are you alone?’ Beowyn wrinkled his nose as he scraped mud caked over his elbow spurs.

  Nodding, Rowan cringed. ‘I hoped to have freed the others by now. As you see, there’s a wee problem with that.’ He turned to me with a tired smile and a warm hug. ‘Very good to see you, cousin. I’ve been worried sick.’ He pulled back to stroke my hair. ‘Wee bit?’

  My eyes got wet. He didn’t have her–hadn’t seen her. ‘Missing.’

  His head dropped back, eyes closing as his throat bobbed. No doubt, he too thought of the horrible things happening to her, and wondered if she was still alive, if she was hurt. ‘She’s strong.’ His voice was gruff. ‘Just like her Mammy. She’ll be alright.’

  I nodded because it was expected of me rather than because I was feeling it. He sensed this and embraced me again, harder and longer, offering strength to bolster my weakened spirit.

  What shot fire to the heart of me was the gentle touch to my cheek as Beowyn offered comfort.

  I expelled a shaky breath, nestling my face into his sword-roughened palm.

  Releasing me, Patrick proved what a resilient soul he was by whistling through his teeth. He rocked on his heels, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backward.’

  I shoved him then put a hand over my mouth to hide a smile.

  He grinned. It fell flat when he faced Beowyn. ‘Got a plan then?’

  ‘You have combat experience?’

  Rowan lifted his chin. ‘I’ll pull my weight.’

  ‘At my count seven act as guard.’

  ‘Nine. The leader wandered off with one of the smaller ones. I heard mewling and grunting noises.’ Patrick made a face. ‘Decided not to follow.’

  ‘Five for me and four for you.’ Beowyn shook his head. ‘Too many.’

  Mouth thinning, I interrupted. ‘Three each. Once we get the others free they can help.’

  ‘You and the others will flee, sneakily, while we make a distraction. Patrick and I will hold them off as long as we are able then follow.’

  ‘This is not the time to be overly protective.’

  ‘Our cub needs you safe and unharmed.’

  That shut me up.

  His use of “our” shook me. When had he started thinking that way?

  I nodded tightly.

  Patrick wiped a look of unadulterated relief from his face when my attention swung to him.

  Acknowledging I might be a distraction while fighting, I remembered the enemy was thrice my weight, and the smallest had a foot on me in height.

  I’d be flattened at the first blow.

  To be useful, I needed to do my part and see the others safe.

  I’d expected to attack the camp that night. No such luck. Beowyn was insistent on waiting for the right moment. We ended up watching the camp in short shifts for the rest of the night and most of the next morning.

  The brutish aliens–who I’d learnt where the L’Odo–were rough and cruel towards my family, but did them no lasting physical harm. They waited for something, or someone.

  I crawled out of my skin by what I guessed was midday, the stifling heat suffocating. I experienced a wave of panic during another jaunt to stretch our legs and ended up breaking down, having a muffled crying jag while held in Patrick’s lap, Beowyn hovering close by. They obviously felt guilty for prolonging the rescue attempt and adding to the unrelenting stress of being stranded and not searching for my missing child, but were no less cautious, something I’d be grateful for in a saner state of mind. Patrick whispered reassurances in my ears to convince me Éorik had a greater chance of discovering us if we stayed in one place. After speaking with Beowyn, he too was confident Fergie was with the stoic Verak High Commander.

  So, I pulled it together and thought really, really positive thoughts.

  During the lull, where we retreated farther from the camp to forage for edible roots and drink tepid water, I sidled up to Beowyn. I picked at a hangnail and chewed my lip.

  Our argument a few days before was a strong indicator my lack of knowledge about how he lived his life would cause problems if we did nothing to get to know each other more. I was worldly enough to understand my arranged marriage would take time to flourish into something more than connivence, no matter how often Beowyn claimed we were perfect for each other.

  It was clear, unlike me, Beowyn had no emotional barriers. He was disconcertingly honest and forthright about what he was feeling and thinking.

  I needed to stop seeing that as something bizarre and as something admirable to emulate.

  ‘Um, hey.’ I poked his arm to make sure he knew I wanted his attention. ‘How’s your side?’

  ‘Healing.’

  ‘Good.’ The conversation petered out. I cleared my throat. ‘I was wondering…do you like my family?’

  ‘Have I done anything that implies different?’

  ‘No.’ I fell quiet. When he said nothing more, I rallied to try again. ‘Will I like your family, do you think?’

  ‘My life givers passed solars ago. I defeated my siblings and have not seen them since.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Defeated them?’

  ‘For the title of Great Alpha. My sister came close to besting me, but in the end, she was not ruthless. She did not put me down as she should.’ He made an affectionate noise. ‘She bore a soft spot for me. And I for her.’

  ‘Your emotions didn’t hold you back though.’

  ‘Didn’t they? I enjoyed questing, could have done it rather than chain myself to Vayhalun.’

  I scooted closer. ‘Questing?’

  ‘Travelling the galaxy pillaging. It is what my people do best.’

  ‘Oh.’ I thou
ght hard on what he wasn’t saying. ‘You think beating her made her happier than if you’d lost.’

  He smiled, eyes pointed ahead.

  ‘You make your home world sound,’ I searched for the word, ‘predatory.’

  A broad smile spread across his face. Pride weighted his reply. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you like ruling everyone? Have you ever wondered about another way?’

  ‘My planet has seen many kingdoms and empires. Many kinds of government have risen and fallen, much like on your Earth. Republics, democracies and tribal councils.’ He made a scrunched face. ‘Many claws shred cloth. It is an ancient Verako saying. A single warlord works best for what we value. He brings riches and peace. He beats the drum of war. On his back the people soar or crawl.’

  ‘That’s a lot of responsibility. How do you shoulder the job alone?’

  ‘I have elders and advisors like Éorik I trust, of course, but I am the Great One. There is no job. My service to my people is absolute.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘So it is good the things my people revere is strength, bed play and raiding.’

  I stifled a laugh behind my palms. I shook my head as the reality of what he was saying crashed down on me. ‘What do you expect of me, Owyn?’

  ‘Be my One. Be nothing but what you are. I have chosen well.’

  I peered blindly into the night.

  He was a ruling King. It kept escaping my notice, good little democratic voter I was. By extension, I was his female equivalent. I shied away from the reality and concentrated on the fact, royalty or not, I was wearing rags and stuck in a jungle eating the finest charred bug my lord could provide.

  ‘I’m feeling unprepared.’

  ‘You have everything needed.’ He drew me close to his side and nestled me into his heat. ‘The rest you will learn.’

  I touched his pointed ear and the studs there. ‘Why so many?’

  ‘They mark certain rights of passage. First kill, best fighter, to denote attachments. You will wear them too.’

  Sensing he was done with the conversation, intent as he was spying on the enemy camp, I put a hold on the rest of my questions for a better time.

  It wasn’t until streaks of twilight darkened the sky did a flurry of movement put us on edge.

  Listening to the garbled conversations, expression alarmed, Beowyn shifted into a crouch, which made me worry whatever the L’Odo debated was in no way good.

  Then one of the scouts rushed the arguing group. He reached the centre only to fall unconscious, a knife hilt protruding from his scaly back.

  The aliens swarmed.

  Beowyn sucked in a breath. ‘Éorik. I recognise the rune on the blade.’

  Patrick crawled on his belly to where the Verak warrior had taken up a watch to squat at his side. The long nylon cord, a remnant from his army days, appeared a black noose around his pale throat.

  Snagging the battered matte disk from under his vest, he kissed it.

  Peeking over their broad backs, I squinted. I leant forward into the gap between their heads, as if it would help my inferior sight. ‘You see really far.’

  Chuckling at my disgruntled pout, Beowyn rubbed his hands together. ‘My Commander is close.’ His voice was low so as not to carry but held infectious excitement. ‘He did not follow the scout to finish it off. He remained behind in order to protect something.’ He shot me a blinding smile, all sharp teeth and dimpled cheeks. ‘Or someone.’

  Heart taking flight at what he insinuated, I choked back a squeal.

  Patrick patted my back. ‘Soon, lass. So–There!’

  Éorik burst through the thorny thicket. A second later a rabble of aliens following his trail crashed into the camp.

  Before I could question what was happening–where was my baby?–Beowyn was up and moving, charging over the muddy bank and launching himself onto the first L’Odo within range taking him down in a flurry of claws and gnashing teeth.

  Patrick hauled me up. He shoved a knife in my hand, and grabbed the other to yank me after him. ‘Free the others.’

  I slipped and slid downhill.

  I stumbled into a ditch, sprung up, then I stood panicking in the middle of mindless death and chaos.

  Terror was cobweb wrapped around my face. It spun down my throat and clogged my insides. A noxious miasma hit me like a brick wall, musty and rotten. It was loose shit, sharp piss and blood streaked with cloying puss.

  Reeling, my middle contracted in a violent spasm, and I bent to retch until I expelled a glut of blue-green bile. A resinous-smelling tinge of the sap I’d ingested clung to it. I hunched lower as another wave of sickness weakened me.

  A sawtoothed blade sang through the space my head had occupied a moment prior.

  Knees splashing into the puddle of vomit, I screamed, flinging my arms up.

  A Dei San reared over me, slathering, slimy tongue lashing across its elongated snout as it whipped its head back to loose a spine-chilling shriek.

  It moved on bulging haunches, the movement of its upright rear limbs forced as if they were better suited to lurching on all fours. Oversized, needle-thin teeth bristled from its scabrous maw, boils and abscesses clustered around its nostrils and eyes, oozing discharge and shiny with mucus. Cadaverous in appearance as it seemed there was a stalwart, enduring toughness to its frame, the sallow flesh clinging to its emaciated musculature reminiscent of an undead abomination dredged from its sunken grave.

  Leaping, cocked arm jerking overhead, Patrick brought down his knife in a short, lethal movement and stabbed it in the eye, wrenching the blade to the side to create maximum damage and leaving a ragged gash across its temple. The strike released a gush of watery green fluid that slowed to a viscous dribble of putrescent gloop from the deflated orb.

  The charnel stench flooded my nose and made my eyes fill and burn.

  ‘Go!’ Patrick strong-armed me onto my feet. He pivoted to finish the flailing Dei San off. ‘I’m right behind you.’

  Gobbets of viscous, gelatinous flesh sailed through the air. Black, turbid ichor hissed as it splattered bark, leaves and loam, eating through the growing matter like greasy acid.

  Trusting my cousin, I scuttled on the outskirts of the battle, heading for Aled, Rowan and my Uncle Fergus, still trussed and at the mercy of whomever reached them first–and I did.

  Rowan blanched, and Aled’s eyes bugged from his head. ‘Behind you.’

  Chapter 11

  Fetid breath gusted over my nape.

  I closed my eyes on a surge of fatalistic calm. I spun and slashed with the knife. It caught. My arm jerked, then moved through something like lumpy jelly; squelching and sucking.

  My hand grew slick with burning oil and the thing I blindly hacked into squealed, and then the earth shuddered.

  Air sawing into my lungs, quivers shaking my limbs, I opened my eyes.

  A L’Odo lay dead at my feet, a gash carved across its scalp and pulpy grey matter spilt across the yellow soil.

  My ears rang; the screaming was deafening. Pain lanced my throat. I slapped a hand over my mouth.

  Movement at the corner of my eye had me lifting my weapon.

  A Dei San lurching past abandoned the fight to fall upon the dead L’Odo. It shoved its maw into the carcass and fed of the tepid flesh in clicking purrs of pleasure and nauseous slurps and gulps.

  Splinters of bone and shredded flesh clung to its needle teeth when it screeched at the shadow which fell upon it. With a clean swoop of his double blades, Éorik took its head.

  His frigid gaze whisked over me to check for injury. Satisfied, he knelt and cut free my cousins and Uncle, ordering them to stay quiet and close to me.

  Beowyn appeared in a swirl of aggression and savage might to cut a swathe around us.

  Voice raised high in defiance, Patrick joined him.

  Éorik pushed forward to widen their circle of defence.

  I couldn’t breathe, my horrified stare fixed on the pieces of body littering the ground at my feet.

  ‘Mammy!
’

  At the girlish shriek, I twisted.

  My borrowed knife raised high, eyes wild and rolling, teeth bared in a feral rictus. I searched for the small body the sound originated from.

  Pulse stuttering, I inhaled sharply.

  Outside the protective circle, she was held under the arm of a blue-skinned behemoth. He held my baby at his side as he hacked and slashed with dizzying speed, his dextrous wielding of a bearded axe fiendishly barbarous.

  ‘Mammy! Mammy!’

  A howling monster rushed them, swinging a jagged length of metal. It wasn’t one of the squat, bloated L’Odo. It was a Dei San, unspeakably nightmarish where its predecessors were hideous. Its dimensions existed beyond the realms of possibility, farcical in their grotesque deformity, yet it on it lumbered. The ground beneath its reptilian bulk quaked. A stunted tail slithered obscenely. It snarled until putrid froth rimmed the gaping hole of its snout, its breath a mephitic stench. Not even the torchlight lent its warm, orange glow to its pustule-ridden flesh, a patchwork of corpse-white and grey.

  Bloodied weapon falling from nerveless fingers, I fell to my knees, arms outstretched, a wail of despair ripping from the depths of my soul.

  The blue warrior ululated a cry.

  Deflecting the crushing blow aimed for his skull, he spun, flung my daughter into the air then turned without a second look as to her whereabouts to decimate the creature.

  Eyes on my flying then falling baby, I loosed a strangled scream.

  Launching himself across the space, Éorik snatched Fergie from the air. He landed with her tucked to his chest. He bounded back into the circle of protection and handed her over without a word to return to the fight.

  ‘Oh, my baby.’ Grabbing hold with such force, I half swung around and fell to my knees. There was blood, mud and other reeking, crusty unclassified debris sticking to my thighs, arms and face, but I kissed her chubby cheeks until she giggled and cuddled me back.

  ‘Look it.’ She waved an invisible–until that horrifying moment–foot long, serrated blade in my face. ‘Pretty. Mine.’

  Eyes so wide I could feel my eyelids straining, I slowly took hold of the lethal weapon by the hilt. ‘Give it to me.’