ThunderClaw: Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 2)

by Penelope Fletcher

  He studied the male next to him.

  He gripped the back of Wulfyn’s neck to give it a rough shake. ‘Wake.’

  Face pressed on the glass table, the male tried to rise. He retched as he opened his mouth to articulate a greeting, and then finally shuddered, collapsing into a fume-soaked heap.

  ‘He has been like this since he arrived.’ Wyrhild prodded his side. ‘He must better hold his ferment.’

  ‘Mighty Boar God drag all Scotsmen to the tarry pits.’ Wulfyn levered up in a jerk, pupils pinpricks. His brindle mane was knotty, unbraided, and his bronzed flesh greyish in cast. ‘Red hair is the mark of evil. I know this now. I awoke this morning in the cold-ore larder wearing female garments, metal pins stabbed in my groin.’ He flailed, bewildered. ‘Why?’

  Beowyn swung his lower leg. ‘I thought your attire fetching.’

  ‘Great One, you saw me?’

  Sjörn thumped his knee. ‘DarkEye, who did not see you?’ His gaze dipped. Grey-streaked bushy eyebrows waggled.

  Wyrhild flashed teeth. ‘All of you.’

  The table exploded into jocularity.

  Sniffing, Wulfyn smoothed his wrinkled tunic. ‘Shall we begin?’

  ‘A moment.’ Sjörn rapped a knuckle against the table. ‘Sìne is a fine choice, Great One.’

  ‘She is best.’ Beowyn dropped his boots to the floor and leant closer. ‘I am pleased she earned favour.’

  Impressing his mentor hadn’t factored into his decision to claim Sìne. Sjörn was affable, easygoing once he knew you, but his standards were lofty. She won him after one meeting. It proved she was Beowyn’s match and proved her suitability for the role of Great Lady. It was a title to be earned, true, but she was too bright and shining to not own it before long.

  ‘Ryki came from noble breeding stock.’ Mykyn of House StoneFang sat close to the table, chair flush to his back. His brown mane was smooth sheet to his waist and parted in the middle, not a strand out of place, no warrior braids to be seen. ‘She was the superior choice.’

  Sjörn rocked, and his seat creaked. ‘Of late your choices irritate me.’

  ‘We speak of irritating choices?’ Beoywn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Whilst questing for my One, what news did I hear of home, Sjörn?

  The grizzled male’s eyes sparked, head canting. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘A Great House sought to further its rank during the troubles caused by my prolonged absence.’

  Shifting in their seats, the four Great Houses lower down the table silenced.

  Mykyn folded his slender hands, hands known to dabble in poisons. ‘This is a problem?’ He avoided eye contact. ‘Our way is to follow the strongest.’

  ‘You sought to subvert the natural order during a crisis.’ Beowyn cricked his neck. The crack of sound made the male flinch. ‘Did you not?’

  ‘House leads retain the right to issue challenge regardless if the time is convenient for the Great Alpha.’

  ‘Lah, backbone,’ said Sjörn.

  Beowyn recognised the respect in the gruff male’s tone and was glad of it. He had already decided to forgo crushing Mykyn in favour of a set down. He lowered his voice to a subvocal rumble they would feel in their bones. ‘Do not quote law to me.’ The skin of his face pulled taut across his features as he experienced the rage he suppressed on Paniki. There it had no appropriate outlet. ‘You hoped to supplant me, at the least topple my third House.’

  Wyrhild nodded agreement.

  ‘To issue challenge is my right,’ said Mykyn. ‘But I did not. This is pointless.’

  ‘You did not issue challenge because Wyrhild threatened to snap you in half.’ Sjörn huffed. ‘It has been too long since last I watched her sweep the floor with an upstart cub.’ His gaze drifted to a younger female down the table.

  Startling under their attention, she made a faint noise of embarrassment and lowered her face.

  Wyrhild bared her fangs in remembered victory.

  Nine Great Houses were represented at the table. The order of those Dynas remained stable unless a House lead died before their time, causing power struggles that were resolved in brutal fights to determine the strongest.

  During ThunderClaw Dyna, the upper echelons belonged to SnowBlade, BloodThorn, FeverBright and DarkEye.

  Beowyn did not much care what happened in the ranking shuffles of the lower four as long as they managed their districts well. Except for when they grasped for authority not theirs to claim.

  They were not strong enough to lead the upper Houses, and it would cause instability and infighting amongst the lesser Houses. This would have a detrimental effect on the general populace, who relied on their strength, depended on them to keep Vayhalun prosperous, as well as safe from invasion.

  There was a balance to maintain, and sixth House threatened it.

  Beowyn uncoiled from his seat. ‘Must I remind you why I am Alpha?’ Silence. ‘Speak.’

  ‘No, Great One.’

  ‘Must I summon the High Commander? Let him prove why his House is second?’

  ‘I am aware of his superiority.’

  ‘Perhaps the Guardian will clean the boots of my One with your tongue after she rips it from your head for daring to suggest my One lesser when I declare her above all.’

  ‘It was indelicate to voice judgement.’ Mykyn sank low in his chair. ‘You have made your point.’

  Beowyn pressed his fists to the table and leant over them. Muscles in his arms bulged, and his fur ruffled, giving him the appearance of growing larger.

  He held himself in check by a hairsbreadth, but that control was one trait raising him above the rest.

  Being Alpha was not only a show of force but the innate ability to command obedience without resorting to physical violence. Rarely did the minor alphas buck the reigns of his control so blatantly. He had known bringing his Queen would cause disturbances, only not what form they might take. ‘What do you say to me?’ His voice emerged a gritty snarl, pupils dilating to silver voids as the primitive urge to prove his might battled his higher thought processes.

  Sweating, the male averted his eyes. ‘Nothing.’ Fear. Its sour stink caused the nostrils of those in the room to flare, predators scenting prey.

  Their reactions signalled to Beowyn the male had had enough. Should he continue to wring his submission, the Houses below StoneFang would begin to snap at Mykyn’s heels, thinking him weak and looking to usurp his place.

  Beowyn slowly sat and resumed his relaxed posture. Although it appeared he shook off his anger between one blink and the next, internally, it took time for his blood to cool and his feral instincts to quieten. ‘I wish to spend high heat with my One and my cub. What problems arose you cannot resolve amongst yourselves?’ Then came the usual debates over punishments for crimes, arguments for new laws, worries over food shortages in one area and overgrazing of the newly imported goodbeasts in another. A territorial dispute between a trio of warring lesser Houses was frustrating, self-indulgent, and ended in Beowyn striping the Houses of all rights to the territory they fought over and ordering the Great House of the district to bestow the land upon a deserving worker. If the affluent were too greedy to share or mediate between themselves, he’d remove the source of contention and give it to someone who would not squander the privilege.

  ‘We must tighten our borders, amend the patterns and times of the Paladin route patrols,’ Sjörn said. ‘Since the destruction of Od, we have deported the refugees who snuck past our planetary security measures.’

  ‘Females and cubs may stay,’ Beowyn said.

  ‘The sting of their betrayal is too fresh to allow them to settle here.’

  ‘You are right. My people are angry. It might lead my beloved citizens to do atrocious things unworthy of Vayhalun. Send a public announcement reiterating this; L’Odo seen are not to be harassed or harmed but reported. They will be taken into custody. The hardhearted of my people who disregard my words and harm a fleeing innocent will face punishment.’ He paused, mindful his warriors might h
old onto an unhealthy antipathy. ‘Ensure our Paladins understand the males are to be treated well and given rations to see them on their way to a borderless spaceport.’

  Sjörn shook his head, mouth downturned. ‘These creatures do not deserve pity nor charity from us.’

  ‘No other species will help them,’ Wulfyn said. ‘We will be the last hope for many of the females and orphans.’

  ‘It is a burden of their own making. They have spread destruction and disease without care for anyone but themselves. Why is this burden ours?’

  Beowyn could explain how they had a duty to help create a kinder, safer universe as it was their desire to live in peace, but he did not like the male’s prickly defiance and pointless hatred. It would be a lesson for another time.

  ‘In this, we must set an example for our allies to follow.’ No good leader would allow his territory to be seen as lacking in compassion or self-centred. In future, when his people needed help from a foreign entity, they might be turned away or ignored–costing them their lives. His course of action was tactical as much as it was moral. ‘We have enough to spare. We will do what we can and do it graciously.’ Hearing the finality in his tone, they moved on.

  ‘Recent forecasts of Oda have caused the scientists to put us on high alert.’ Wulfyn swiped a claw across the table, activating the technology within. He brought up a hologram of the sun. ‘Surface activity has not lessened as expected. They believe the sun enters an active cycle.’ He blew out a breath. ‘These prominence loop recordings are of immeasurable size. The solar winds that would batter our troposphere are….’ He visibly struggled to speak. ‘Great One, the last Heat Age of Vayhalun was because Oda became active. Life on the atolls was obliterated.’

  ‘Our primitive ancestors did not have the energy barriers,’ said Sjörn.

  Mykyn baulked. ‘The ramifications of a superstorm originating from Oda would be catastrophic.’

  ‘The shields will work,’ said Wulfyn. ‘It is the speed of use that concerns me. Our people have grown complacent despite regular drills. The last storm was aeons ago. The danger is remembered but not fully realised.’

  Beowyn watched the roiling surface of the red-purple sun erupt into a dozen reaching feelers which might leave his planet a scorched husk should they continue to burn. His face seemed beaten between hammer and anvil when he lifted his head, tempered to hardness. ‘Guardian, suggestions?’

  Petite horns polished to shine and capped in filigreed bronze, Wyrhild glared at the projection. ‘Advise the Paladins to increase training drills. Send emergency protocol blasts on the official notification frequencies.’ Her golden pupils expanded until they dominated the blacks of her eyes. ‘Our people must be warned, prepared for the worst should Oda erupt.’

  ‘See to it.’ He eyed Sjörn. His brow arched. ‘Sentinel?’

  Grunting, the older male itched the base of his horn. ‘These politicians understand little of real world concerns. They are too worried about credit forecasting and quibbling over quantities of tax allocated to what.’

  Beowyn rolled his eyes. He took perverse thrill the moment was suitable to emulate the peculiar human gesture.

  Sjörn startled and stared.

  Wulfyn chuffed, no doubt familiar with the gesticulation being as fascinated with Beowyn’s human-kin as he was.

  ‘Avoiding such things is the reason a retired Paladin heads the People’s Guard, and a legislator commands my Paladins.’ It had been a novel idea Beowyn thought would work well. It would work if Sjörn let go of archaic notions. ‘You keep the politicians from forgetting practical matters. Wyrhild keeps the Paladins from forgetting the boring logistics tiresome to warriors.’

  ‘Boring logistics?’ Wulfyn shared a pained look with Wyrhild.

  ‘See! Do you see?’ Sjörn looked vindicated. ‘It is boring.’ He slumped and grumbled, folding his hands over his middle. ‘I will speak to the Guard about freeing up the emergency Vault credit lines and make preparations for the market to crash.’

  ‘I am done here.’ Beowyn stretched and his spine popped. ‘If you need me after high heat, I will be with Glindi.’

  Since his return, his Zozon aide bombarded his frequency with requests to respond to official correspondence he received from Allied sovereignties. She had grown adept at removing frivolous communications. For her to resort to begging for attention, there were matters of urgency he must address.

  Beowyn sought out his Commander.

  The male enjoyed a light repast with Sìne and Fergie in the private gardens located in the middle of the citadel. He and the cub frolicked over a sculpture traditionally used for meditation.

  Beowyn flopped onto the violet grass and flung an arm over his eyes.

  Slender fingers tipped with blunt nayeels raked through his mane, scratching his scalp in lazy drags that made his toes curl and his horns throb.

  Shivering, he rolled onto his side and buried his face into the warm crevice of his female’s lap, urging her to continue with an imperious wave.

  ‘Bad meeting?’ asked Sìne.

  He rubbed his face against her. ‘Our primary sun Oda is entering an active phase. ‘It is a great worry.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  He did not want her frightened.

  Lips brushed his furrowed brow. ‘Are you doing your best to make us safe?’

  ‘As much as I am able.’

  ‘Then that’s all a woman can ask.’

  A chilled fruit slice pushed at the threshold of his mouth. He nibbled on the juicy segment then devoured the whole portion. Bittersweet flavour exploded across his tongue.

  She caressed his cheek. ‘More?’

  He licked his lips, appetite roused. ‘Meat?’ Smoky, charred kimmijion flesh was waved under his nose. ‘Delicious.’

  ‘Something Aled concocted with Cobra. Turned out good, aye?’

  Fergie cannoned into his stomach. ‘Och, nae, I fell o’er.’ She giggled, then gabbled about her morning, miniature hands yanking on his beard and tying knots into his mane. ‘Are ye good Da?’ Her green-brown eyes widened with curiosity as she awaited his response.

  ‘I am well.’ Beowyn smoothed her wild hair. ‘Are you behaving?’

  Her gaze drifted. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Do you lie?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘This will not do.’ He tapped her hairless, pert nose. ‘Why do you lie?’

  She dropped her face into her hands, resting her elbows on his stomach. ‘Big girl potty.’ She rolled her eyes like her mother and sighed long-sufferingly like his Commander.

  Beowyn peeked at the adults.

  ‘I am training her to use the waste bowl.’ Éorik tutted when Fergie made a scrunched face. At Sìne’s tight-lipped look, he added, ‘It is best she learns before she begins public lessons.’

  Fergie grumbled around her thumb.

  She lay her head on Beowyn’s chest, shifted to get comfortable, and then promptly started snoring.

  He blinked at the speed at which she went from brightly awake to sleep.

  Sìne scooped up their cub then tucked the edge of the blanket around her. ‘Sleeps like the dead.’ She smoothed copper curls. ‘She’s a late bloomer, I know, but she’s friendly and kind. She’s smart in lots of ways.’

  Éorik gripped Sìne’s chin. ‘I was not trying to make her seem lacking. Other cubs in her age set will have mastered using the waste bowl.’

  She searched his face. Her shoulders relaxed. ‘You want her to fit in.’

  ‘I wish to make her transition as easy as I can.’ His nose twitched. ‘I also dislike smelling her pouches.’

  Grimacing, Beowyn had to agree. ‘Why are we not employing a tutor? Fergie may take her time learning such things.’ He had never changed the cub’s waste pouch, nor was he ever going to, but he didn’t see the need to rush her development. ‘Do you worry about expense?’ He admired her sensible outlook when it came to finances, but they were wealthy and had no need to conserve funds. ‘I will provide.’
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br />   ‘I want her to attend public school.’ Sìne picked apart a hunk of crusty bread. She tossed the crumbs to a swarm of chittering insects with pink wings and wispy antennae. ‘I want her to meet other wee ones. Make friends. I want her to know all walks of life.’

  ‘I will ask the lesser alphas to bring their cubs.’ Fergie would no longer be distressed. She would gather the loyal companions his mate desired, and Éorik could relax his protective instincts. There. He’d fixed the conundrum. They still had to suffer the stinky pouches, but life was seldom perfect. ‘All is settled.’ Beowyn rubbed his horn against Sìne’s belly awaiting praise and adoration.

  ‘Owyn, I want her to leave the palace and go to Grand Atoll and be amongst a different class of people.’

  ‘But I solved the problem.’

  ‘It was no a problem to fix.’ She stroked a finger over his cheekbone. ‘I’m happy you’re keen to help, don’t think I’m no. I’d rather Fergie carries on as she is with the potty training, and goes to public school like I originally planned.’

  ‘You prefer Éorik’s solution.’

  Thighs pillowing his head tensed. ‘That’s no how I think of it.’

  Beowyn peered under his lashes at his Commander.

  Motionless, Éorik stared at the grass, expression too composed to be natural. He did not offer a challenge with direct eye contact, but neither did he offer to leave, so they may continue the intimate conversation in private.

  It struck him as obvious when they had been reunited on the jungle planet the male had bonded with his cub. Unexpected but not unwelcome. It had been foolish to overlook the depth of the connection and how it would be perceived by Sìne.

  Éorik bedding Beowyn’s mate and enjoying her human love was one thing; claiming the cub as his own another.

  A rough growl shook his chest as he rocked and coiled into a crouch.

  Éorik stiffened.

  ‘Beowyn,’ whispered Sìne.

  Ignoring her to focus on the male who wouldn’t stop pushing, the harsh vibration emanating from his chest deepened, and he leant over to bare his fangs, a hairsbreadth from Éorik’s face, the snarl feral and vicious.