Yeah, that was what the cynical side of her warned, but Thalia suspected that she would never tire of being doted on. She soaked up his care and attention like the parched earth after a rainstorm.
For breakfast, Havik served a traditional Rolusdrean staple of a surprisingly spicy bean soup served with spongy bread. He sliced up a bitter green fruit she didn’t care for. Her experience with the local cuisine had been a success, other than Havik insisting on eating that bitter fruit with every meal. That, and the fermented yeasty paste he slathered on the bread. Ugh. She was all for new experiences and exploring food, but that stuff smelled rank. It was just as well that he limited his shipboard diet to instant noodles. She didn’t relish that sour yeast smell circulating through the ship.
“I don’t know why you lived off those instant noodles on the ship. You’re a good cook.”
“I am not. This is an easy meal to prepare.” He waved to the open soup carton on the counter.
“You don’t harvest heirloom, organic ingredients every morning at dawn? Gasp. I am shocked. Shook, even,” she said in a dry tone. A meal made for her by someone else, even just heating something right out of the package, was a meal made—or reheated, as the case may be—with love and therefore the best. “So, tell me about this mysterious appointment?”
“If you were eating instead of talking, you’d know by now.”
The big red tease. Still, Thalia slurped down her breakfast soup and shoved the bread in her mouth. “Ready.”
Despite being under a dome, the village had a quaint feel with narrow, twisty streets. Plaster walls were painted a riot of colors, everything from a soft white that glowed in the sun, to vivid blues, purples, and enchanting greens. No color seemed off-limits and it charmed Thalia to her core.
With no weather inside the dome, tables and chairs spilled onto the street. People seemed to live outside on patios, balconies, and gardens. Narrow alleys opened into unexpected courtyards, cluttered with greenery and benches.
They meandered through the market square, stopping to purchase fritters studded with bits of fruit. The scent of fried fritters and fat positively enchanted her, but that wasn’t a surprise. Everything about this trip felt enchanted. Thalia knew they existed in a bubble, a rare moment when the real-world responsibilities did not matter. At least not yet.
She worried about what life would be like when they joined the Judgment. Or, in her case, returned to the battlecruiser. Would they look at her with scorn for jumping into a relationship with Havik? Would they hate her because she was human?
No. She had been on the Judgment. They rescued her pod and had treated her with nothing but kindness.
The grumpy doctor crossed her mind.
Okay, most everyone treated her with kindness. The nurse was human and very patient as Thalia worked through her confusion and panic. Plenty of women, some human and some alien, had roles on the ship. The atmosphere had been positive. Thalia might not know much, but she knew to listen to her gut, and she knew when people were bad news. If Paax’s clan had secrets, they were well guarded. She believed the Judgment to be a good place.
And because her mind was always working on contingency plans—hello, how else does a street kid survive on their own?—she wondered what she would do once they got to the Judgment. Reading books all day and watching movies was all right for a holiday, but part of her was already growing bored. She wanted to be useful. How to be useful, unfortunately, proved harder to discern.
Thalia pushed those thoughts out of her mind. They had no place in the honeymoon bubble.
Havik led her into a section of town they had never ventured into before. The buildings appeared worn and less cared for. Paint had faded under the relentless sun. They passed a rough archway, the stones looking far more ancient than the surrounding buildings.
“Is that an entrance to the tunnels?” she asked.
They watched the super long documentary on the history of Rolusdreus. Initially, she did it to humor Havik, but she found herself sucked into the story. The planet essentially had a civil war and nearly nuked themselves out of existence. Generations lived underground in tunnels and bunkers, all the while tweaking their genes to adapt to the new environment topside.
The tunnels saw use again during the Suhlik Invasion. Just when the planet finally got its act together and started to repair the self-inflicted damage, it got the snot beat out of it by the Suhlik. Somehow knowing that Earth was not alone in being self-destructive lifted her spirits. These aliens were as fucked up as humanity.
“Indeed, but I do not recommend a casual visit. The tunnels are in ill repair and unsafe.”
“Have you explored them?”
“Certainly, as a child. It was educational.”
She rolled her eyes. The safety standard for her was super low while his was set sky-high.
They entered a shop. Art decorated the walls. Behind the counter looked, for lack of a better word, like a tattoo parlor.
A male sporting sleeves of ink greeted them. Yup, totally a tattoo parlor. Escorted back to a booth, Thalia perched on a stool while Havik unbuttoned his shirt. He wore a loose-fitting tunic made from a soft navy-blue fabric. It draped loosely across the front and buttoned at the shoulder. It was a style she saw on many of the locals. Havik explained that the garment could be wrapped tightly for the cold, had a hood to protect from sand and wind, and fit loosely during the heat of the day. She rather liked the casualness of it on him, but she also enjoyed the way the fabric slid off his shoulders.
“Greedy female,” he said, his voice amused.
“Sorry, didn’t realize you were stripping in public now,” she snarked back, thoroughly enjoying the view.
The tattoo artist filled a shallow dish with a white powder and told her to place her hand in it.
“What’s going on?”
“You marked me with the blood of your enemy. I have never received so high an honor,” Havik said.
“You’re getting my bloody handprint tattooed on you?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, you marked my armor so we will have to recreate it.”
She nodded, something in her chest expanding to the point of pain that felt a lot like love. Fucking romantic alien, making her wanna cry.
He guided her hand into the chalk and pressed it against his chest. Glancing down, he nodded with satisfaction. The tattoo artist set to work.
“That’s it? I thought it’d be more…something,” Thalia said, watching the design take shape. “Will it be the same as your others?”
The artist tapped one of Havik’s arms. “That’s my work here, that coverup. The ink is a special formula that will react with the Mahdfel bioluminescence. You won’t notice any difference from what you would get from your clan.”
Thalia peered closer at the design on his arm. The ink blended perfectly with the rest of the design, flawless, even. She knew from firsthand experience that it glowed just as brightly as the rest of his tattoos. “I can’t see a difference. It’s gorgeous.”
“The difference is I no longer bear the markings of my father,” Havik said without a trace of bitterness. His dark eyes shone, like he had more to say but he would save his words for private.
She blushed for no good reason, just the heat of his gaze. Suddenly warm, she couldn’t wait to get back to the cottage. They were wearing far too many clothes and that needed to be remedied at once.
She fucking adored the honeymoon bubble.
Havik
He was two steps outside the tattoo parlor before Thalia tugged him down a secluded alley.
His mate.
Laughing, he pressed her against a plaster wall. His mouth captured hers and she melted against him. His world narrowed to this point of contact, the heat of her, the way she moved against him, inviting more.
She pressed her hand against his chest, watching him for a reaction. “Does it hurt?”
“Momentarily.” He healed quickly enough that the site had minor swelling. In an hour, the design
would appear as if he had always worn his mate’s handprint. He covered her hand with his, the older tattoos at his wrist and forearm glowing.
“Good.” Thalia switched positions, pressing him against the wall. Stretching up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his like a female possessed by a fever.
He approved.
Grabbing her at the hips, he lifted her, and her legs wrapped around his waist. They were about to make a spectacle of themselves, and he did not care.
Her fingers worked the buttons on his tunic, pushing the fabric aside. She stared at his flesh, pressing her hand to the design. “I can’t believe you did this. It’s the sweetest and sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.” Her oasis-blue eyes watered. She blinked rapidly, looking up from his chest. “This is forever, isn’t it?”
Uneasiness replaced desire. He had promised devotion once before to another and failed. He would not fail again. “With everything I have. You are for me. The only one.”
She smiled and it felt just like dawn rising over the ocean. “I think you’re pretty great, too, Garu Havik.”
He needed to get her back to their cottage so he could show her the extent of his devotion. She squirmed in his grip, no doubt feeling his devotion pressing against her.
The comm unit chimed with an incoming message.
“There’s the real world,” his mate groaned, not in the way he wished to hear groaning. She slid down to her feet and adjusted her spectacles.
The message was short but filled him with a cold dread. “It is from the animal rescue.”
“Is Stabs okay? That big scorpion attacked him, didn’t it? I knew it.”
“No. My mother was attacked by poachers. She’s missing.”
Chapter 21
Havik
The details were minimal. Mais left the animal rescue yesterday evening. She never arrived at the clan’s settlement. That morning, her vehicle was discovered, along with the devices used to disable the vehicle.
Someone laid a trap for his mother. He did not have to ponder long. “Poachers,” he said. “I had dealings with them before.”
“The same guys who stole the kumakre egg?” his mate asked.
“Potentially, or another.” There seemed to be no shortage of the unscrupulous willing to sacrifice endangered animals for credit. “They will pay for this.”
Havik cursed the clumsy ship. He needed speed but landing on shifting sands required patience. His haste would cause the landing gear to snap.
Snarling, he jabbed buttons on the console a touch harsher than necessary. The ship landed with a noticeable jerk. He did not care about potential damage. Mais had been missing for twelve hours already. The likelihood of her surviving in the desert without shelter and water diminished by the hour.
He donned his armor. If Mais had encountered poachers, they were to be regarded as hostile. It would be foolish to rush in without protective gear.
“Are you ready?” Thalia asked, dressed in her armor. She held the helmet under one arm.
“You will remain on the ship,” he said.
“I want to talk to the people. I’m not fighting.”
“Unacceptable. We do not know if the rescue staff have been compromised. It is unsafe for you.” He refused to put his mate in harm’s way. She had a distressing habit of rushing in and worrying about the repercussions of her actions later. It made his heart hurt. If Thalia set foot off the ship, she’d find her way into the search party, and he could not imagine the danger into which she’d foolishly wander. No, it was better for her to remain on the ship.
“Fair enough,” she said at length, “but if someone was in on it, you’ll never know. You’re far too good to spot a liar.”
“I am perfectly capable of detecting lies. I am incapable of telling them,” he said.
She searched his face; for what, he had no clue. “That’s true. Fine. I’ll sit here and twiddle my thumbs. I hate being useless.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Not useless. Stay on the comms. Listen for any communications from the poachers.”
She scowled but agreed. “Fine. I’ll take notes when the bad guys start discussing their plans in detail over the phone.”
He smiled fondly at her attitude. “I do not expect the poachers to boast of their plots. Listen for their position, the size of their force, and their weapons capability. Carry this.” He took a small pistol from his side and pressed it into her hands.
She blinked at the weapon. “I thought you said no guns on the ship.”
“Aim carefully. I would rather have to make repairs than have you unarmed.”
“Ah, you say the sweetest things, Danger B.”
He ran through the pertinent information: safety, power, and trigger. She took aim with the pistol, making pew-pew noises.
“The Stinger is not a toy,” he cautioned. She smirked, as if she thought the diminutive pistol was adorable. “Size is deceptive. Use caution.”
“I will. Come back to me,” she said, stretching up to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth.
“Always.”
The lights turned red and blinked. Thalia gasped, grabbing his hand.
“Do not be alarmed. That is a standard alert that means someone is outside the ship,” he said, pleased to the core that she reached for his hand for comfort.
“Be careful,” she said, before heading to the communication station.
He hurried through the airlock and down the ramp.
A cluster of Mahdfel males waited for him, each dressed in armor and equipped with a variety of weapons. He recognized them as his father’s most trusted warriors and was struck by their age. In the intervening years, they had grown old. Or he had matured.
Havik did not see the warriors he tried to emulate when he was a youth. He saw tired males. At the heart of their cluster stood Kaos.
Kaos clasped Havik on each arm. “My son! I knew you would come.”
Of course he came. Mais was important to him. He could not sit idly by while she was missing.
“Father,” Havik said.
A wide grin broke across Kaos’ face, displaying far too many teeth. The corners of his eyes wrinkled. Had Kaos always had so much white in his hair or was it a trick of the light?
“We can use another male in our search. Come. There is no time to waste,” the warlord said.
Thalia
The blinking red lights gave a disconcerting strobe effect to the helm, like the tiniest, saddest club in the universe.
Setting the glass of not-tomato juice on the console, she flung herself into the navigator’s seat and turned on the external cameras.
Nothing.
Not even dirt, which meant the cameras were broken or disabled. Her money was on disabled. She grabbed the tiny pistol and wished Stabs were there. The kumakre was pint-sized, but terrifying in all the ways she wanted a guard dog to be.
“Computer, turn off the lights.”
The ship plunged into darkness. Fuck. It did exactly as she said but not what she wanted.
“Computer, restore the lights. Turn off the alarm.” The overhead lighting returned, minus the flashing red light. “Has the ship been compromised?”
“Negative.”
So, the red lights were for fun? Thalia didn’t think so. “Run a diagnostic on external cameras.”
Lights flickered before staying dark.
Fan-fucking-tastic. Someone strong-armed their way into the ship, hacking the security system. Poacher? Did they know Havik returned with a juvenile kumakre and egg? Did they hope to find more on the ship?
Thalia didn’t care. This was her home and she didn’t take kindly to unwelcome guests.
With the safety off and the pistol humming as it powered up, she crept from the helm toward the airlock. In the other hand, she carried her glass of juice. Don’t judge. She needed a distraction. The intruders would expect a pistol, but they would not expect her to lob glasses of juice.
Safety strips embedded into the flooring pro
vided the only illumination. Thalia was at a serious disadvantage, not just from the darkness but because the intruders went out of their way to cause the blackout.
They knew she was on board.
Treading lightly, she hugged the walls. Thankfully she still wore the armor, more out of laziness than any foresight.
The bright light shone directly in her face, blinding her. Hands grabbed her. The juice flew. A man cursed. Using the sound to guide her, she squeezed the trigger on the pistol. A different male voice cursed.
Good. She got one of the fuckers. She faced terrible odds with however-many-the-fuck against one.
Arms wrapped under her armpits and lifted her. The pistol clattered to the floor. She kicked and howled. “Hold still, female.”
Unseen hands peeled the armor off her, leaving her in only her undershirt and shorts.
“Frek, she’s ugly,” a different male commented.
Completely stripped, the male tossed her to the ground. The fist slammed into her lower back, sending her directly to her knees. Still blinded, she raised her arms and tucked her head down. The blows continued. Distantly she was aware of being dragged forward.
Daylight spilled through the open airlock.
“No,” she cried, continuing to struggle as her feet slid across the floor.
Her assailants hauled her into the sunshine and uncompromising heat.
Chapter 22
Havik
Kaos positively beamed with an expression Havik had never seen on his father’s face. Joy. His father was pleased to see him.
Havik didn’t know what to do with this information.
“We will find her,” Kaos said.
“Was the vehicle recovered?” Havik had a thought to pull data from the onboard navigation unit. The vehicle’s computer may have recorded useful information.
“Still on the sands,” Havik answered.
“I would like to inspect the vehicle,” Havik said.
“Sir,” a warrior interjected. Skyll, Havik recalled the male’s name. “The wind has shifted any trace of a trail. There is little to gain and only time to be lost.”
Havik: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 9) Page 20