Havik: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 9)

by Nancey Cummings

A frantic male, as broad as he was tall and green as grass, knocked into her tube. The base rocked and she fell into the side. The alien male kept moving, never pausing.

  “Watch it,” she snapped, expecting a shock.

  None came.

  Thalia pressed a hand against the acrylic surface. Nothing. The power to the tubes must have been cut along with the lights.

  Planting both hands on the tube, she pushed with all her weight. Heavy, it did not want to budge but wobbled slightly at the base. The tube did not appear to be attached. She continued, pushing and holding back, making the entire tube rock back and forth. Without power, the flimsiness of the structure proved to be nothing more than cheap and held together by brute force. That seemed to sum up what she knew about the people who ran the auction.

  The tube swayed. Thalia threw herself against the barrier, her added weight toppling the enclosure. She and the tube crashed to the ground. The tube shattered. Distantly, she felt bits of the shattered material scrape and cut into her skin but the adrenaline buzzing through her body let her push it aside. She was free.

  “Havik!” The noise of the crowd swallowed her shout. She hoped all this chaos meant her alien had found her.

  Rising to her feet, she made a calculated guess as to the direction of the next tube. Broken acrylic pieces dug into her feet as she stumbled across.

  The tube was empty.

  Thalia moved on to the next, a random person walking right into her back and pushing her out of the way. She fell to her knees, landing hard and catching some of her weight on her hands.

  “Thalia!”

  Her head jerked up and her entire body turned to the sound of Havik’s voice.

  A figure emerged from the shadows, dark and prowling. The sulfurous yellow light shone up, casting a demonic glow to his form. Clad in armor and wearing a helmet that disguised his face, Thalia knew it was her Havik. The chaos of the crowd milled roiled around him, but he remained a perfect point of calm.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

  His tail lashed out with menace, like a cracking whip. The barb on the end could take out an eye and Havik had no control over it.

  “I’m sorry. I saw an opportunity and had to take it.”

  He stalked closer. She could practically visualize his lips pressed into a thin line, thoroughly displeased, but the glossy black of the helmet only reflected her image.

  “You look upset. Are you upset? I know I would be if my partner ran off and,” she searched for the phrase he used, “abandoned the mission, but I didn’t. We found the smugglers! Mission accomplished.”

  Another step closer. Yellow light shimmered across the visor of the helmet. He reached down to a thigh and grabbed the hilt of a knife. The blade gleamed.

  “Yeah?” She spread her hands wide and wiggled her fingers. “Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry and I missed you and I hoped you were tracking me and didn’t think I ditched you, because I’m not going to do that.”

  He moved like a thunderous storm about to break, and Thalia had never been as frightened in her life. Not because he would hurt her—she never thought he would raise a hand to her—but because she failed him. Thalia had never had anyone care so much about her, and she screwed it up.

  “Please don’t—”

  The blade flew. She flattened herself to the floor, broken acrylic digging into her palms.

  Havik

  The blade hit its mark, sinking into the throat of the male who lunged for Thalia. The male touched the handle of the blade, as if in disbelief, and pulled it free. Blood pulsed and he slapped a hand over the wound, falling to his knees. Havik recognized him as the male who Thalia had saved from an allergic reaction.

  The iron bar the male held clattered to the floor.

  Thalia kicked the bar away and scrambled to her feet. “He was going to brain me! That fucker.”

  Under his armor, his tattoos burned with pleasure. He had missed his mate and her colorful language.

  “Thalia—” The visor slid open. A smile blossomed across her face, and the air felt clean, like after a storm. For the first time since the smugglers took her, he could breathe.

  Then, because the universe could not bear to see him happy, a Terran female grabbed his mate. With an arm wrapped around Thalia’s chest, the female pressed a knife to her throat. Havik recognized his own blade.

  Thalia’s oasis-blue eyes went wide but she remained still.

  “That was my man,” the female hissed. “No one gets to end him but me!”

  “Sue, we can be reasonable,” Thalia said.

  “Is that your alien? Is he going to compensate me for my lost inventory? For the fuel I burned hauling your ass here?”

  “Sue, this is a raid.” Thalia’s voice remained calm and steady. “Look around you. Those are Mahdfel soldiers. If you leave now, you have time to get away. They can’t stop every ship.”

  “Do as my mate says and leave. We will not pursue you,” Havik said.

  “Please leave,” Thalia said, her voice continuing to be a source of calm in the noise and confusion of the raid.

  “You ruined me! You have no idea what the boss will do to me if I don’t give him his money. Do you think he’s the kind of man to accept an IOU?”

  The knife dug in. A drop of scarlet trickled down Thalia’s throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Thalia said. The back of her head slammed into the female’s nose, followed by a crunch and cry. Blood gushed from her nose.

  Moving with a speed he did not suspect; she grabbed the blaster from the female’s shoulder holster. With the barrel pressed directly to the female’s thigh, she pulled the trigger. The female crumpled to the ground, wailing.

  Thalia stood motionless for three heartbeats. He counted out the thuds emanating from her chest. She shook her head, then kneeled over the prone female, pinning her body down with her weight. She checked the female’s pulse. “Idiot,” she muttered. “If you were going to keep your blaster charged and on the highest setting, why didn’t you have a thumbprint scanner? Or at least the safety on?”

  Havik knelt next to his mate. “The female requires a medic, but I am not inclined to find one.”

  Retrieving a square of cloth from the female’s pocket, Thalia mopped up the blood. “Be quiet. You’re not dying. You’re welcome, by the way. I hope you enjoy a nice long life in prison.”

  The female bared her teeth, all bloody, and spat. Thalia shoved the filthy rag in the female’s mouth. “Do you have handcuffs? Oh, shut the fuck up, Sue. I begged you to leave.”

  The female thrashed, kicking ineffectively with her good leg.

  “Stop that! Bad Sue!” Thalia bopped the female on her broken nose. A new howl of ragged agony tore from the female, only partially muffled by the rag stuffed in her mouth.

  Havik handed his mate a set of cuffs and supervised as she bound the female. Finished, she turned toward him and placed a bloody hand on his chest. Pride swelled that his mate marked him with the blood of her enemy, slain by her own hand. That part of his chest had the marker for his clan. He would cover the old tattoo with a new emblem, with her handprint.

  Overcome by the need to hold his mate, he pulled her into his arms. A glittery powder covered every inch of her. The sharp, chemical smell masked her clean, blossoming scent and made his nose itch. She felt so fragile in his arms as she buried her face against his chest.

  They were an oasis in the chaos. People shouted and ran. Weapons clashed. Caged animals growled and roared. They could endure in that moment forever, sheltered in each other’s arms and safe.

  “Thalia,” he moaned. Clutching her, he vowed to never let her go again. He had so many things to share with her, to confess his heart, that he did not know where to begin.

  His mate let out a hiss and stiffened. “Fuck, that smarts, but I don’t want you to let go.”

  “I will not.” Never again. Somehow fate gave him another chance to redeem himself and prove that he could be more than
a selfish, image-obsessed male. If he achieved nothing else in this life than being a good mate to Thalia, then he would count himself an accomplished male.

  “Why don’t I feel more upset? I shot a person,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “You defended yourself.” He took her red hand in his, turning it over to study the injuries she had accumulated. He needed to inspect every part of her, but she needed reassurance from his first. “You gave her the opportunity to flee. You did well.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it. This sucks.” Moisture appeared at the corners of her eyes. “It’s like Sue wanted to die.”

  “The female had a blade pressed to the throat of my mate. She flirted with more than death.”

  If Thalia noticed he claimed her as his mate, she made no comment. Instead, her lashes grew heavy as she blinked away tears. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks to mop up the moisture, leaving a red trail.

  “You require a medic.” He rose to his feet and lifted her in his arms.

  “Just take me home, please.”

  He noticed she did not demand to be put down. “Medic first. Then home.”

  Thalia

  The medic approached cautiously. Havik set Thalia down on her feet and then stepped in front of her, blocking her with his body like a great red wall.

  “The female is injured,” the medic said.

  Thalia inspected her hands and scrapes on her arm. None of the cuts seemed deep. “I’m fine. I look worse than I am,” she said.

  Havik spun and glared down at her. “You are covered in blood. You are not fine.” He took the kit from the medic. “I will clean her wounds. You are not required.”

  The medic opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, then scanned the room. “Fine. I am too busy to deal with your posturing. Contact me if the wounds are deep or she faints.”

  Havik crouched down to her eye level. “Are you going to faint?”

  “I’m cold.” With adrenaline leaving her system, she shivered.

  Havik looked around the room and pointed to a man with a purple complexion and horns. He wore a blue robe of obvious quality with silver embroidery on the sleeves and sash. Havik pointed a finger and said, “You.”

  The man jumped.

  “Give me your garment.”

  The man paled but stripped off the outer robe. Underneath, he wore a navy-blue tank and pants. With a shaking hand, he held it out to Havik, who snatched it quickly. Carefully he placed it over Thalia’s shoulders. The owner looked like he would protest but closed his mouth with a squeak when Havik glared at him.

  “This is too nice. I’ll ruin it,” Thalia said.

  “That male had been apprehended in the raid. He was here to purchase a sentient being. It has already been ruined by contact with him,” Havik said.

  Thalia stroked the silken sleeve, leaving the blue fabric grungy. “Not its fault it was owned by a creep, but I see your point. Thank you.”

  “Are you still cold? Require fluid? Sustenance? Are you in shock?”

  Maybe. She wanted a shower and then she’d look at her injuries. “I want to go home. Do we have to stay here?”

  “No. Your medical condition is not critical. You do not have to be attended to here.” Without warning, Havik scooped her up and carried her through the crowd.

  Chapter 17

  Havik

  Havik ran on instinct. He stripped Thalia and washed away the evidence of her capture. Under the warm water, her trembling ceased, and she relaxed. He focused on lathering and rinsing, keeping his touch clinical, even as she leaned into him and hummed with contentment.

  The water plastered her hair to her head, and she looked up at him with such a sly smile.

  “Feeling better?”

  “A sexy shower with my favorite person? My spirits have been lifted,” she replied.

  The air heated between them. He wanted so much in the moment that it felt too big to be contained. He had nearly lost Thalia once and he would not do so again. He’d bind her to him, mark her for all to see that they belonged together.

  He cleared his throat, focusing on the task at hand. So much blood covered his mate: some hers, some donated from others. The glittering powder mixed in created a sparkling gore. Using a sponge, he lathered on the sweet-smelling soap she preferred.

  “You kissed me,” she said.

  “I did.”

  “I’m not sure you did it right.”

  The sponge paused, hovering over her shoulder blade. “I am sure I did it correctly.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You should kiss me again, just to be on the safe side.”

  “Ah, I see. Safety protocol is very important to me.” The water rinsed away soap and grime, leaving a clean patch. Gently, he pressed his lips to her shoulder, avoiding the angry red lacerations. Warm from the water, her skin tasted fresh.

  Carefully, he cleaned and kissed, working his way down her to the swell of her bottom. His tusk nipped into the meatiest part of her ass. Instead of jumping away, she groaned, pressing back into him.

  Growling with hunger, he spun her until his face pressed into her lower abdomen. Her slender form appeared to be frail, but he could feel the strength in her. He wanted to scold her for injuring herself, for running off and deviating from the mission parameters, but he was so thankful to have her back.

  Kisses brought him to the apex of her thighs. Her scent was strongest here, musky and full of desire.

  Her hands explored the swirling tattoos on his arms and shoulders, her fingers tracing the patterns. They burned with her touch.

  Groaning with the urge to taste her, he pulled away.

  Soon.

  His hands gripped her shoulders. Unsure how to proceed, he didn’t want to stop touching her but now was not the time to continue. She was injured and tired. Only a selfish male would give in to his base instincts and claim his mate in such a condition. She deserved better from him.

  “You should kiss me here,” she said, tapping her lips. She tilted her head back as if challenging him. Water glistened on her lips and formed rivulets down her throat.

  He groaned, knowing that if he did, he would not stop.

  “You are injured,” he said.

  “Not that injured,” she replied, lower lip in a pout.

  “I will and I won’t let you go again.” He pressed a final kiss to the top of her wet head. “But only after I put a healing gel on your wounds, food and sleep.”

  Thalia

  A dream about not being able to lock the stall door for a public toilet woke her. Wearing—more like swimming in—Havik’s tunic, she hustled down to the cleansing room to take care of business.

  She returned with a cup of steaming tea. Every part of her was exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with Havik. Whether it was his bulk, the solid wall of muscle he called a chest, or the way his large hands held hers so carefully, she felt safe with him. The world was a horrible place filled with horrible people who only cared about others if it benefited them. A dog-eat-dog world, her mom would say.

  But with Havik, it wasn’t such a bad place. Or maybe they made it a better place, together.

  For crying out loud, she sounded sappy. That had to be exhaustion.

  Thalia curled up in the chair, blowing on the tea to cool it.

  Eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out Havik’s form under the bedsheets, like a mountain in the middle of the bed.

  He took such good care of her when they got back to the ship, carefully cleaning her back and slathering the scrapes with gel. His touch had been tender, reverent even, but that was as far as it went, even when she begged for more.

  He did call her his mate, though. Thalia had read too many romance novels to let that go. Part of her was disappointed they didn’t tear each other’s clothes off and spend a week in bed.

  Her toes curled in anticipation.

  Instead, Havik tore away the flimsy costume and washed away the stripper glitter. His touch
remained clinical when he tended to her injuries, but it brought tears to her eyes. She couldn’t seem to stop crying. She never had anyone take care of her before, and it was so fucking lovely.

  He made her a cup of sugary tea and watched patiently while she ate a bowl of noodles. With her stomach in turmoil, eating seemed beyond her, but the moment the savory aroma hit her, she was ravenous. He watched every bite, like he ran calculations of calories burned through trauma and needed to right the balance.

  Then he put her to bed. No fond kisses on the forehead. No accidental brushes that meant more. No lingering looks. Nothing.

  He only stayed in her cabin because she said the dark seemed too big to be left alone with. Even then, he sat on the floor, next to her bed like a faithful dog. Needing a physical connection, her hand rested on the top of his head and remained there until she fell asleep.

  At some point, a nightmare—people shoving her in the dark—woke her. Without a word, Havik climbed into the bed and wrapped her in his arms. Was it wrong that after all that, Thalia felt frustrated? His actions said he cared deeply, and she knew from experience that words meant nothing without action.

  Still, she wanted the words.

  And then some action.

  She drained her tea, wondering if the glitter dust had been spiked with a chemical to lower her inhibitions or how long the calm-down gas used in her tube would linger in her system. Positive that her feelings were not chemically induced, she acknowledged that confessing their feelings and making love when she was hopped up on adrenaline and unknown chemicals, all the while bleeding, wasn’t the smartest move.

  He was a good man, always taking care of her.

  A new comm unit sat on a nearby table, an example of how Havik anticipated her needs. She didn’t have to explain how she lost her comm unit. He already had a replacement ready.

  He was perfect if she didn’t think too hard about why he didn’t have a clan or how his first wife left. Two tiny little quibbles, really.

  Thalia rolled her eyes at her sarcasm. She liked him, felt dangerously close to loving him, but she needed to know.