Alien General's Bride: SciFi Alien Romance (Brion Brides)

by Vi Voxley

  Diego waited, but Isolde had nothing else to say. Everything she had feared had been confirmed, and the things she would have thought ridiculous some weeks ago seemed fairly normal compared to the sort of trouble she was really in.

  “You are right, about almost everything,” Diego said in a cold, emotionless voice so unlike the soothing tones he usually had when talking to her. “I hope you believe me when I say I was going to tell you the truth.”

  “I don’t,” Isolde said. “I should have paid attention. You said you wouldn’t hurt me, which you haven’t. You said you would protect me, you have. You didn’t say you wouldn’t lie, and you did.”

  For a moment, there was an endless sadness in Diego’s eyes, but like all his kind moments, it passed. Isolde’s own tears had dried. She had spent all of them, lying on the bed, cursing herself for falling into the trap as old as time. A really handsome guy comes, messes with a woman’s head, and off she goes, abandoning all reason for a pair of pretty eyes and strong arms and voice like thunder and… No. The stupid simple word she hadn’t been able to say this whole time.

  “You do not understand,” Diego began, sighing. “Isolde, you have to trust me. You do not know the full meaning of all of this. If you let me, I will explain. You will understand why we are going to Briolina and why I did not tell you before. You will understand why you are so important now, to me and to all Brions.”

  “I don’t want anything to do with the Brions anymore,” Isolde said, even if the tears she thought spent threatened to make another appearance. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  There was real pain in the general’s eyes now. She found herself unable to take any enjoyment from that, even if she thought she owed it to the dead. The thread that bound them together was taunt, but not broken. She hurt, hurt all the more because she’d truly thought she might fall for him. Might actually, really like him. Maybe even love him. The thread tugged at her heart, but how could she live with herself if she forgave something like this?

  “If my words mean anything to you, I want you to drop me off at the first opportunity,” Isolde went on, even if the thought of leaving him seemed as unbearable as it was unavoidable.

  “Isolde…”

  “Until then, I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you here.”

  “Isolde, it is not so simple. If you get off my ship, you are as good as dead. We have to fix this first, or you will be running for the rest of your life, and it will be very short. I can only protect you if you are with me, do you understand that?”

  “Get out of my room.”

  It was plain from the look on Diego’s face that no one had ever uttered those words to him before.

  “Isolde, listen to me…”

  “Get. Out.”

  Diego still did not move, but Isolde’s strength was running out. She could no longer bear to see him. She could no longer risk that she might forgive him still. He had to go.

  Oh no, no, no, no, do NOT yell at the alien warlord…

  “GET OUT!”

  Diego went. Isolde slumped to her bed, tears finding some hidden reserve in her chest and pouring unbidden and unwanted, falling in her hopeless despair. It hurt on a level she hadn’t thought possible. Given the choice between Diego heeding her request and throwing her off the ship, meaning her almost certain death, and staying here with people that did this to others, Isolde desperately wished she knew which she really hoped for.

  Diego was one of them. Diego had lied to her, betrayed her, protected her, cared for her, fought for her, used her… Diego had told her she was his gesha and he her gerion. Her world fell to pieces, not the least of which because, at last, she believed him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Isolde

  She was still alive.

  Isolde Fenner was in the process of doubting her own existence – a question that had plagued philosophers for ages. Her arguments were better than theirs, she felt.

  Never mind being solely in the presence of the Brions, a species with not exactly a peace-loving reputation. Never mind she’d seen the bullet with her name on it, although to be completely honest, it had been a spear. Never mind a Brion civil war was a very probable event in the near future, with her directly in the heart of it.

  Nope. She had yelled at Diego Grothan, and she still drew breath.

  Not only that, Isolde had thrown Diego out of her room, on his ship no less, a subject he was pointedly touchy about, and to top it all off with a beautiful red cherry – she was shaming him by actually refusing the binding his species thought sacred and undeniable.

  She had resorted to madness as the last line of reason. Blowing gently on a mirror proved that she could still count herself among the living. This absurd test took place in her new alien bathroom. She kept referring to it like that, because she still couldn’t figure out half the controls and had come very close to roasting herself alive, after which the more complex ones had been shut off.

  The same old face greeted her in the mirror. Her long dark hair was now held back from her face with a green jewel that matched her eyes. At the moment, her lips were curled into a sneer as she considered her options for what to do with her eyes. It was clear she’d been crying – not a lot, Isolde was hardly a crybaby to lock herself in a room and become a living ghost – but just enough to get all the helpless frustration out. She hoped. Now, should she cover up the traces, or let the generals see exactly what they were putting her through?

  She decided to put on a brave face. The Brions had little compassion, they would care nothing for her tears, they’d proved that already. They recognized strength alone and strong she would be.

  Time had passed on the Triumphant as they flew at perfectly average speeds towards the Brion home world. Speed was the major question these days, Isolde felt, and during the week she’d spent aboard, it seemed to be the main topic of conversation. Brion ships could travel great distances very fast, if they chose to.

  Yet both Diego and Faren wanted to strike a balance between getting to Briolina too soon and taking too much time. Their slow approach would give the Elders time to come out of their secretive meditation and allow the other generals to make up their minds as to their allegiance.

  Isolde knew about as much as the rest of the galaxy about the Sleep. Another relic of tech they no longer understood, the Brions were still able to maintain the weird artificial dream that took up most of the Elders’ time. It didn’t make them immortal, but it considerably prolonged their life and kept them at the age in which they’d entered the Sleep.

  The most notable thing was that while in the Sleep, they formed a sort of a hive mind between the pods and could be fed new information through implants. That’s how they always emerged with a single purpose, having already discussed all they needed in their dreams. So Diego and Faren had to give them time to deal with the new situation.

  However, delay too much and the senators would have the advantage, and the Galactic Union would start to wonder about Isolde’s whereabouts. So far, Diego had answered the Palians’ inquiry saying that Isolde was alive and well, but urgent matters demanded he make a small detour – after all, it wasn’t a carrier ship she’d boarded and couldn’t have been expected to make her a priority. The Palians had reluctantly accepted that, but no one was under any illusions as to what was going on at the GU council where the Brions had few true allies.

  Everything was teetering on the edge of a knife, thought the shining creature in Isolde’s mirror. Green light seemed to glimmer around her, only aided by her new robes, befitting the gesha of the commander. Oh yes. That.

  Isolde the alien bride looked at her new self and fought down conflicting emotions. Two nights ago, Diego had made one of his few appearances since their fight. Mostly, he’d kept away as she’d demanded, but Isolde knew it could never get out, which was exactly what they’d had to discuss.

  He’d come in without Isolde’s door making a single sound, informing her ex
actly how much she was at his mercy, and that her privacy was allowed only as a gift.

  The familiar jacket was gone, Isolde had noticed with a painful tinge of regret. The feel of it still ached under her fingers, and as much as she’d tried to force herself to forget, she hadn’t been able to shake the need to fist her hands into the hard fabric and pull herself up to… But the jacket hadn’t been the only thing gone, replaced by the black-and-gold war armor that fit him so perfectly she’d been unable to tear her eyes away.

  The armor wasn’t the old heavy medieval type, but a form-fitting, gold-adorned suit cast in the pulsing light of his valor squares. Seeing that avatar of manhood stand before her, tower above her, with his head held high and an aura of power around him so great it nearly brought her to her knees had made her mouth water and her whole body shiver from head to toe. Yet Isolde hadn’t taken one step closer, because besides the jacket, his smirk had been gone as well.

  “General,” she’d said, quietly.

  “Miss Fenner,” the commander had replied, causing her to wince as if struck. “Do you find your accommodations agreeable so far?”

  “Yes,” she’d managed. “Thank you.”

  It had become obvious Diego had no intention of honoring her demand to drop her off his ship. Instead of a goodbye, Isolde had received new clothes, standard galactic foods, which she found quite good, developed to be suitable to the many species roaming space, and other things a “human female” could have found wanting.

  All of this had been delivered to her on the general’s orders without her seeing him for days. Only once had he dropped by, in the same non-knocking way, to say something, but instead had taken one look at her and whatever he’d seen in her eyes had made him turn on his heels and leave. Two nights ago had been the first time she’d gotten to talk to him.

  The general had nodded. His voice was cold and authoritative as he addressed her. She might have imagined it, but it sent unpleasant shivers up her spine. “As you know, we approach Briolina.”

  Gathering courage explained only by the fact she still wasn’t dead, Isolde had dared to reply, “And you plan to take me there against my will.”

  She’d liked his eyes from the very first moment she’d seen them, comparing them to an ocean’s endless deep blue. As the general lifted his gaze to hers, she was reminded that the ocean was cold – cold, merciless and deadly. Fear had gripped her heart and she’d stumbled away from him.

  “If need be,” the general had said, low and threatening. “You would do well to remember why you are still alive.”

  Isolde had nothing to say to that. She knew.

  “Speaking of which,” he’d continued, “we will have to discuss how we present our image on Briolina soon. Faren and the new commander of the Fearless will join us in two days for a tactical meeting. You will attend. And for all intents and purposes, our binding has taken place as of now.”

  No. She couldn’t do that. Isolde didn’t think she had the actress gene in her.

  “I…” she began.

  “This is not a request,” the general had said coldly. “If you refuse, we may already be dead. I will not force you, but I cannot protect us if this comes out. You know what image is to the Brions.”

  Yes, Isolde thought. I also know what honor and a binding are to a Brion. I know you can’t actually bear to be in the same room with me, want me and want to have your revenge on me at the same time.

  “I understand,” she’d finally said.

  Funny thing was, she did. If she wanted to live to see another day, Diego Grothan was the only thing standing between her and certain death. Even with him, it seemed their enemies were many. Would she cost the general his long-lasting title? His life?

  Bathed in green, Isolde waited. The dress fit her form, bringing attention to the curves she’d always been self-conscious about, only with Diego… with the general she felt appreciated for them. It was a guilty pleasure, but she longed to enjoy that, properly, truly enjoy the passion he had for her. She wondered how long it would last. Denying a gerion was an insult so great that it was… unheard of, to be honest. Isolde didn’t think even the fated bond between them was strong enough to make him forgive her for that.

  When he entered to escort her to the meeting, he looked as breath-taking as ever. Isolde’s heart pounded as unmistakable lust flared in the general’s eyes, his gaze taking in every inch of her body before he could regain his composure. His eyes looked all the colder for that, she noticed.

  “Good,” he said simply. “You look like a gesha.”

  She wondered how much it cost him to get that praise over his lips. With all the anger she felt towards him, she didn’t say anything in return, not wanting to ruin his sentiment.

  “We will meet our allies and discuss our options,” he explained. “The meeting is as private as it can be, the inner circle alone, but our agreement still stays between us, do you understand?”

  Isolde nodded, but couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Faren will know. He… he just sees through me.”

  There, in the midst of all the war and darkness and pain, the briefest flash of light as the general’s lips twitched to a familiar, painful, much missed smirk for just a moment. Isolde started to smile in return when it was gone as quickly as it’d appeared.

  “Faren always knows, yes,” he said, ice itself again, “but that is no excuse to be unguarded. I have made myself busy for the last couple of days so as not to arouse suspicion about why I’m not with you, but we will have to sell it now.”

  Sell the fated bond. Sell our uncontrollable lust and – well – love for each other. Keep Diego’s image. Keep ourselves alive.

  Isolde nodded, steeling herself and taking his arm. It felt strong and sure under her grip, firm as he led her through the door. It feels so good. It feels like this is how it’s supposed to be. Only it can never be.

  Then she put on her best smile and became the blushing alien bride.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Isolde

  The smile froze on Isolde’s lips when they made it through the corridors and arrived in a more traditional council room – at least for her – and the doors slid shut behind them. A semi-circle of low couches surrounded a central, sunken platform. It was like walking into a small empty pool.

  Diego squeezed her hand reassuringly, but Isolde took it as a sign to pay attention and look happy. Easier said than done. The walk from her room had been painful. It would have been fine if she’d truly loved him and he her. Wonderful, even. It would even have been fine if she’d hated him and he her. Isolde could have put on a brave face then and focused solely on her survival with no conflicting emotions.

  Instead, it had been like walking in a dream from which you didn’t want to but had to wake up. Diego’s arm around her had felt amazing, his body strong and comforting against hers, making her feel safe and cared for in a way she couldn’t entirely explain. The other Brions had been hiding their smiles when they walked past, so Isolde guessed they were selling it, after all.

  When she dared sneak a glance at him, she found the general looking at her, barely noticing his adoring warriors, the now-agonizing smirk on his lips. Him showing that kind of affection in public was a sure sign of a man who had just found his one true mate. Her heart had pounded as his smirk forced a coy smile to her own lips, unbidden but all the more real.

  Like a curtain falling, when they’d passed through an empty corridor, all the warmth had left Diego, his supportive hold of her suddenly stiff and forced. Isolde’d shivered in his arms. The look he’d given her had been disapproving.

  “You do not have to worry,” he’d said. “I swore not to hurt you.”

  I know. But you do.

  For the sake of all their allies, the people who were supposed to side with them, she made herself smile. It was so tempting to give in to the feelings she truly did have, the cursed desire coursing through her veins and making her seek any contact with Diego, however small. Only the looks he gave he
r when they were alone had proved too painful to bear for her to give in to that. Before, Diego Grothan’s endearments had been reserved for her and her alone; now, it was the reverse.

  Her general held out his hand to help her down the steps, an aid she didn’t need, but the show had to go on, and she couldn’t stop herself from taking that smallest of touches if nothing else. Diego’s hand lingered, holding on to hers for a second more than was absolutely necessary. She didn’t have to fake her shiver at that. No doubt all the Brions in the room with their sharpened senses noticed.

  Sell it.

  Isolde let her fingers brush against the back of his hand, seeing Deliya fight down a pleased grin out of the corner of her eye and bringing a smile to the lips of a Brion woman sitting on one of the couches. She could feel the shiver run through the general, and it tore her heart apart to see him give her another smirk. Then he put his general face back on.

  “May I introduce you to my gesha, Isolde,” he said, turning to the others.

  In Brionese, her name sounded like his. Deliya had explained to her it didn’t mean he owned her – gerions were in no way the more important parts of the bind – but simply that they were one. Isolde hoped to the gods she didn’t give anything away with her fake smile.

  “Isolde,” the general said then, and his voice was unmistakably filled with love. Isolde’s eyes went wide. Her name sounded like a song on his lips, a prayer, a hymn. She smiled.

  I can do that. I’m not a Brion general, smiling is okay for me.

  “These are our allies,” Diego said. Isolde bowed her head as she’d been instructed. “You know my brother general Faren already, and this is Atren, the new general and commander of the Fearless.”

  The Brion warlords wore the same armor as Diego, only the golden etching twisted and turned in different patterns, surely telling the story of some victory of theirs. Both stood with their arms crossed, refusing to sit as was the Brion custom.