Havik: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 9)

by Nancey Cummings

  Havik had only ever kissed one other person. Despite the years of abstention, his body remembered how to hold a female and move his lips over hers without injuring her with his tusks. His brain couldn’t help but make tiny comparisons: the noises she made, her taste, the feel of her soft curves, and the way her eyeglasses sat askew.

  He liked kissing her, more than he should because it was mostly a ploy to get her to stop talking and to hide his face from the group that recently entered the bar. He wondered if he could convince her to continue kissing him after this.

  Yes, more kissing. He would make that a priority.

  Sitting down, he placed her in his lap and tucked his face against her ear. The spot just behind her earlobe seemed pleasingly sensitive as his tusks scraped her skin. The scent of her, of night blossoms and cool water, was strongest here.

  He adjusted himself on the chair, his cock hard and demanding.

  She sighed and murmured, “What brought this on? I’m not complaining.”

  “Pretend to be enjoying yourself,” he said softly, lips pressed to her ear. “A smuggler crew just entered that I have been tracking. I am blending into the environment.”

  “Unorthodox. I like it.”

  He liked her but kept that revelation to himself. He should not enjoy her company, and he should not be entertained at the way she constantly teased and needled him for her amusement. While he understood the unsavory deeds of her past were necessary for survival, she exercised those skills now just to spite him.

  She was infuriating and intoxicating. Holding her in his arms felt right in a way that no one ever had, and he knew that was wrong. He did not deserve a mate. He failed his mate once and could not bear to fail again.

  She tugged at the front closure of his jacket.

  “Do not,” he whispered, covering her hand with his own. “My tattoos must remain covered.” While his size might lead some to question him as Mahdfel, the inked designs erased all doubt.

  And no one needed to know how Thalia made his tattoos burn with desire.

  “They’re badass. Seems a shame to keep them covered.” Her hand slipped under the jacket collar, her palm brushing against his collarbone and chest.

  He could not be distracted. He needed to remain focused.

  “The leader is a Terran female in a white coat. Do you observe her?” he asked in a quiet voice. She had noticed so much in the bar that he overlooked. What else had he missed?

  “Yeah, I see her. There’s two Sangrin guys with her. They got a table at the back.”

  “Weapons?” He nuzzled her neck because such actions were necessary to maintain the disguise of being an alcohol-intoxicated male, not because he enjoyed the way she squirmed on his lap when his tusks grazed her skin.

  “You’re not going to like this. Each of the guys has a blaster or a pistol in a shoulder holster.”

  “A foolish and short-sighted selection.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re smugglers. They don’t make good choices,” she murmured. “Are you sure you recognized them?”

  “My memory is flawless.”

  “Wow, modest much?”

  “I encountered them on Sangrin, shortly before making your acquaintance.”

  “You said you had someone in custody. Did you arrest part of their crew?”

  “Their captive.” He should have left the vile Terran male in his cell for all the information he had. Vanessa spent a small fortune to liberate the male, and he knew nothing about the smugglers that Havik had not already learned. After seeking treatment for the male’s injuries, Havik had been all too delighted to leave him with Sangrin law enforcement and a copy of the warrant from Earth. “They will know me.”

  “Yeah, you’re pretty unforgettable.” She was silent, then, “I’m going to go talk to them.”

  “Do not.”

  “Boring but fine. I’ll refill our drinks and see if I can overhear anything.”

  His arms tightened around her, trapping her. “Do not.”

  “Look, we can’t keep pretending to make out. The bartender is going to yell at us to get a room.”

  He liked that suggestion. “I do not want you to be alone. It is risky.”

  She leaned back, pulling away from him. “Isn’t that the point of this? I’m bait? Time to cast me out and see what we catch.”

  “I am liking the plan less and less.” Weeks ago, he viewed the plan as flawless. The tracker embedded under her skin was undetectable. Now, all he saw were flaws and risks.

  Her small hand cradled his face. “Me too. It’s such a stupid plan. So, I’m going to go to the bar, make a distraction, and you’re going to slip out. Then we can regroup.”

  “What kind of distraction?” He suspected that her idea of a distraction would curl his tail.

  “I’m just going to spill a drink. Relax.” She rose to her feet, adjusted her glasses, and smoothed her hair. Lifting her chin, she tugged her jacket back into place and headed toward the bar.

  Then her distraction happened all on its own.

  Thalia

  So that happened.

  Thalia took a moment to collect herself and catch her breath because wow. Wow. He kissed her like a thirsty man needed water and he listened to her.

  Careful to keep her gaze averted, she walked by the smuggler’s table. A man coughed without covering his mouth. She ignored the need to scold him about public health and not being a germ-spreading douche. Instead, she made for the bar and wondered if she could get two bottles of the ale to take back to the ship but didn’t know if the bar was quite that dodgy. Respectable places wouldn’t let you carry out an open container but there had to be an alien equivalent of a brown paper bag.

  A Sangrin man lurched to his feet, wildly pointing to his throat. He gasped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and Thalia realized that was what was happening. He couldn’t breathe.

  The others at the table looked at him without a shred of concern. “What are you going on about? Sit down, you fool,” the human woman said.

  “Can’t. Drank—” More gasping as he fumbled for something in his pocket, knocking over his glass of beer.

  Thalia raced over and stuck her hand in the man's pocket. That got a reaction from his companions. “What are you doing!?”

  “He’s trying to tell you he’s having an allergic reaction,” she said, shouting over the other man’s protests. Instead of finding an injectable antihistamine in his pocket, she found a medical card.

  Useless.

  “He’s allergic to a berry, I think,” the woman said.

  Thalia tossed the card to the table. “Hey! You got a first aid kit?” she shouted to the bartender. He nodded and produced a red plastic box.

  The man continued to clutch at his throat, desperately sucking in air.

  “You need to calm down,” she said, using her most soothing voice. “Panicking is making it worse. You have a couple of minutes. Relax.”

  Her words had the opposite effect. His eyes went wide, and he backed away, like he was prepared to outrun anaphylaxis. Gray splotches covered his throat and his lips.

  Sighing, she suddenly understood why Doc always browbeat his patients into submission. Fear and panic made people stupid.

  She grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him down into a chair. Moving swiftly, she grabbed the blaster from his shoulder holster, dialed the setting to the lowest level, and pressed the barrel to the side of his head. With a brief hum and flash, the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  Rough hands grabbed her. “What did you do?” the other Sangrin man snarled.

  “Stunned him. Panic makes the reaction happen faster.”

  “You killed him!”

  Thalia shoved the broadside of the blaster against the man’s stomach. “Stunned. Him. Now get out of my way and let me work, or you’ll be responsible for his death.”

  The man looked at the human woman. Clearly this was the boss. She regarded Thalia with cold eyes, then nodded. The bartender a
rrived with the first aid kit.

  Encouraged by the undisturbed seal, she cracked open the box. A quick scan told her she had what she needed. The small monitor powered up immediately, and Thalia handed it to the boss. “Hold it to his wrist and watch his vitals,” she ordered. “His oxygen is probably low because he was panicking. Let me know if it gets too low.”

  “What’s too low?”

  “The numbers turn red.” The device had a simple design. Doc had called it idiot-proof.

  Crouched on the floor, she fumbled with the injectable canisters in the kit, each a salmon pink color. Holding the labels up, she squinted to read in the low light. Written in Sangrin, the translation chip in her head transformed the foreign characters into something she could read.

  “This one,” she said, tearing off the plastic wrapper. With one hand, she twisted the base, pushing the epinephrine—or its alien equivalent—into the chamber. She plunged the needle into the unconscious man’s thigh and pushed down on the syringe, injecting the drug.

  A tense moment passed.

  Gaze fixated on the cheap monitor, the woman said, “His numbers are going up.”

  “Good.” Thalia sighed, resting on her knees. She didn’t want to think about the sticky floor or the sucking sound the fabric of her pants made every time she moved. “Call medical rescue. This station has to have emergency medical.”

  “He’s fine,” the man said, stubbornly not moving.

  Thalia narrowed her eyes. “He’s currently not dying but he is far from fine. He needs a doctor. Do it.”

  Once again, the man looked to his boss, waiting for her permission before he scurried off.

  The woman gave Thalia an assessing look. “How’d you know to do that? You a doctor?”

  “God, no. I actually have people skills, but I’ve worked with one.”

  “Are you sure about those people skills?”

  Thalia shook her head. “I cleaned Doc’s equipment and handed him the right tools when he was too drunk to read the labels.” Only once she said the words did she realize how it sounded. “Phrasing. Crap. It wasn’t like that.”

  “Sure, it wasn’t.”

  “Think what you want.” Thalia stuffed the contents back into the first aid kit. The plastic wrap kept the unused items sanitary, but everything she opened needed to be tossed.

  “You got a name?”

  “Yup,” Thalia said, not elaborating.

  A slow, calculating grin spread across the woman’s face. “I’m Sue.”

  “Okay.” That seemed so average for the badass woman with scars on either cheek.

  Sue rolled her eyes. “You expect my name to be something like Galatrix Loralie the Dreadful?”

  “Honestly, yes, but I can see how Sue is better for ordering coffee and whatnot.”

  Sue nudged the unconscious man with the toe of her boot. “Thanks for saving Naston. He’s not the brightest, but he’s good with explosives. I knew he was allergic to a berry, but I forgot which one. What are you doing out here at the ass-end of the Sangrin system?”

  The rapid change of topic caught Thalia off guard, which had to be Sue’s intent. Buying herself time, Thalia checked Naston. His breathing evened out, and the gray splotches on his lavender skin faded.

  “I was on a ship but had a disagreement with the captain. His plan was shit, I told him as much, and suddenly I had to leave in a hurry,” Thalia said.

  “You keep your head in a crisis.”

  Thalia shrugged.

  Naston stirred into consciousness just as the medics arrived. Thalia stepped back, briefly describing what happened and what she did. They administered another injection and made Naston drink damn near a gallon of water.

  Sue handed Thalia a cold beer as they watched the medics work. “What were you doing with the big red guy?”

  Thalia bristled, glancing to the empty table where Havik had been. She didn’t want Sue’s attention on Havik. Not just because Sue might recognize him, but because he was hers. She didn’t share.

  “Working,” Thalia answered. Disappointment flashed on Sue’s face, and Thalia knew what type of work Sue thought she did. Thalia held up two credit tokens. “Not that kind of working.”

  “Why do you wear those glasses? You can get your eyes fixed, you know.”

  The question felt like a job interview. Did she want this to be a job interview? “I don’t need to get my eyes fixed. Since we’re getting personal, what happened to your face?” Thalia raked two fingers down her cheek to demonstrate her meaning.

  “I had a disagreement with the previous captain. I thought I’d be a better one. He didn’t. I got one cut for each failed mutiny attempt. The third time’s the charm. Do you know what I learned from that?”

  “If the crew mutinies, they better do it right the first time?” It seemed obvious to Thalia.

  The calculating grin returned. “I think I have a spot for you on my crew.”

  Thalia took a long swig from the bottle. Leaving with Sue wasn’t Havik’s plan, but it was a damn good opportunity. He already ID’d the crew as smugglers. Surely, he’d know that if she left with Sue, it was just part of the job and not running away. Who would run away from a kiss like that? She wanted to snuggle up with him and discover where those kisses could take them.

  Good places, she bet. The best places.

  Fuck. She wanted to stay with her Danger B, but Sue presented the ideal opportunity to get in with the crew. They were inclined to trust her. Her gut told her she couldn’t say no, so she said yes.

  “Sign me up, captain.”

  Havik

  This was not the plan.

  Havik watched Thalia leave of her own volition with the smugglers. Had they coerced her? Tricked her? He hated to imagine Thalia in peril. Then, a quiet and vicious thought wiggled its way into his head: had the smugglers made a more generous offer?

  No. For her many numerous faults, she was loyal to her word. She often applied a very generous interpretation to her word, but he felt confident that she would not betray him. She assessed the battlefield and adjusted the plan of attack, as any warrior would do.

  Havik paced back and forth in front of the ship, waiting for Ren to return so they could leave this miserable station and retrieve his mate. Even if they left that instant, they would need to follow at a distance outside of long-range scanners, which meant burning fuel for nothing.

  They had time. He had to be patient.

  Fuck patience.

  Waiting grated against him like sand in the wind. He needed to be doing something. Anything.

  “Don’t you have a female to scowl at and silently judge? Where is Thalia?” Ren balanced a medium-sized box on one shoulder and carried a bag.

  Havik hated the way his friend said his mate’s name, like it was humorous. What he shared with Thalia was sacred and just for them. He did not need Ren’s laughter.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he shook his head to clear away the possessive thoughts and updated Ren on the situation.

  “Lost another female?” Ren grinned at his perceived cleverness.

  Havik landed a swift blow to the smiling fool’s abdomen. Ren doubled over, dropping the box and bag. A bell jingled. A colorful plastic ball rolled down the pavement.

  Stabs—Havik would not acknowledge a fictitious rank—bolted down the ramp. Tail rattling, the kumakre pounced and tumbled with the ball, the bell jingling merrily.

  Ren kneeled and opened the box. “This part was specially made. If you damaged it, we will be here another day.”

  “Unacceptable.”

  The ball rolled away, and Stabs scurried after, chasing the sound. A dock worker shouted in alarm and pressed himself against the side of a ship as Stabs dashed past. Havik assured the male he was safe if he remained still.

  “You bought the kumakre a toy?”

  Ren seemed unconcerned that he insulted the dignity of a fierce and wild predator with a few credits’ worth of plastic and metal and completely ignored Havik. “If y
ou do not wish to wait, then do not attack males holding expensive, custom made converters,” he said. He lifted a piece of silver metal that appeared very much to be two cups welded together.

  “That was custom made?” Havik did not understand mechanics.

  “Yes. The inner chamber degrades over time.” Ren tapped the center where the cups joined. “I could waste days searching junkyards for the part, but it would be worn and fail, just as our current one does. Fortunately, this appears to have survived your temper tantrum.”

  Havik had the overwhelming urge to punch Ren again. “How long until we’re ready to fly?”

  “Three hours.”

  “Make it one.” He needed to follow Thalia. The tracker worked at a considerable distance but the itching inside his head would cease if he were moving toward her, not sitting still while Ren played with his parts.

  Thalia would have snorted at that, making such a ludicrous sound with her tiny Terran nose and sinus cavity.

  “Impossible. The material needs to be tempered or it will crack, and that will cause a cascade—” Ren babbled, listing a series of mechanical failures that would prove fatal.

  Havik ceased to listen. “Do it.”

  He scooped up Stabs, clutching and hissing at the ball, and marched up the ramp.

  Chapter 13

  Thalia

  The crew was less than warm with their greetings.

  “Captain brought in another stray. This one won’t last a week,” a human man with a rough salt and pepper beard said. He looked like he fought hard in the battle of life but still lost.

  “Please, question me some more,” Sue said, silencing the man with a look. “Dray, give her Paadric’s old cabin.”

  Dray, the other Sangrin male who had been at the bar, asked, “Do you have luggage or something?”

  “What you see is what you get. I didn’t have time to pack a bag before I was asked to leave the ship,” Thalia said, trying to keep her voice light. She wanted the smuggler crew to underestimate her because you never question the motive of those you think of as harmless. If anyone questioned her, she’d have to spin a lie, and making up lies on the spot was harder than people thought.