Bhyr
Alien Warrior Book Three
Penelope Fletcher
Stephenson & Fletcher
Contents
Blurb
Before
Part I
1. Indira
2. Indira
3. Indira
4. Indira
5. Bhyr
6. Bhyr
7. Indira
8. Bhyr
9. Indira
10. Indira
Part II
11. Bhyr
12. Bhyr
13. Indira
14. Indira
15. Bhyr
16. Bhyr
17. Indira
18. Indira
19. Indira
20. Bhyr
21. Bhyr
22. Bhyr
Part III
23. Indira
24. Indira
25. Indira
26. Bhyr
27. Indira
28. Indira
29. Bhyr
30. Indira
31. Indira
32. Indira
33. Indira
Part IV
34. Bhyr
35. Bhyr
36. Indira
37. Indira
38. Indira
39. Indira
40. Bhyr
41. Indira
42. Indira
Part V
43. Indira
44. Bhyr
45. Bhyr
46. Indira
47. Indira
48. Indira
49. Indira
After
Then
Afterword
Blurb
Bhyr, leader of the Azteka Horde, is committed to saving his species from extinction. Taking the human female as a breeder is his divine right. He will breed her, anoint his spawn, and then rid himself of the complications that come with a mate. But when the time comes, will he be able to strike down the one he loves most?
Indira is abducted from Earth and leashed to an alien barbarian. He wants one thing of her: an heir. Vowing to escape his clutches, Indira begins a revolt that causes ripples throughout the galaxy. But as she strives to thwart the most feared being in the universe, she must question how the warrior she defied became the darkest desire of her heart.
Warning: violence, profanity, psychological trauma, forced seduction and sexual content.
We are the destroyers of worlds. The scourge of the weak and the masters of creation. We are as one fist, one blade, one almighty force. We are horde.
Unknown, Ranked Warrior of the Azteka Horde
The female is mine, willing or unwilling. It makes no difference. She breathes because I allow it. She exists because I allow it.
Hel Bhyr, First of the Azteka Horde, God’s Chosen, the Avatar of Destruction
Before
some serious shit goes down….
Hel Bhyr peered into the seerstone.
Wisps of cloud wreathed the blue planet. Green and brown terrain populated with man and beast called to his more primitive self. To invade.
Conquer.
A hot twist of satisfaction spread through his chest.
Soon.
‘Breathtaking.’ Hel Bihter hovered a scarred hand over the stone bowl. He longed to touch the glassy surface and feel the ether beyond. The viscous liquid within the vessel rippled, disturbed by his essence. He withdrew his hand and fisted it at his side. ‘I have seen nothing like it before. In all our travels through uncharted space, we have never discovered such potential. It is a blessing.’
‘The species that own it squander its gifts. Humans are weak.’ Bhyr’s upper lip curled. ‘Vøtkyr makes us strong.’
The monsters and tundras of the home world whittled the Azteka into a fierce species. One of the most powerful in the known galaxy.
Bihter’s placid expression showed none of the turmoil roiling within. He knew what was to come was inevitable. He could not help but try to mitigate the ruthlessness about to descend upon humanity. ‘I have come to see there are different shades of strength. Different, but no less incredible than our own.’
‘You have changed.’ Bhyr’s subtle warning crackled between them.
‘Must we do this?’ Bihter asked despite the precipice he teetered. The First was not a male with whom one trifled.
‘Horde needs breeders.’
‘We should trade for what we need.’
‘What? Lower ourselves to bargaining?’ Bhyr snorted. ‘Better to take.’
Expression frosted like the mountain peak he called home, Bihter turned to leave. ‘I feel sorrow for them.’
He received no response.
The flame of hope he’d nursed for a different future diminished, and he walked on.
‘I have no sympathy for the weak,’ murmured Bhyr.
Step faltering for the smallest fraction of a moment, Hel Bihter resumed his stride.
Heat gathered at the corners of his eyes, and the embers of hope warming his chest turned cold.
He did not see when the First turned to watch him go, nor the fleeting hint of doubt that flickered in his eyes.
Part I
Abduction
1
Indira
I twirled. The sequins embroidered on my dupatta reflected the candlelight. The airy melody was the rush of blood in my veins. The drumming beat was the pound of my heart.
My partner raised his open palms and shook his shoulders. With light, snappish kicks of his toes, he danced a circle. He went to his knees and pressed his hands over his chest to pump them as if they were a beating heart.
I propped a fist on my hip and pointed a wagging finger. I swung my hips side to side, my choli bared middle fixed in place to exaggerate the sensual movement.
Three dozen women wearing a swirl of jewelled colours mirrored the action.
Powerful hits to the rows of dhol drums increased as the couples on the floor spun, clapped and jumped.
We sang of women with warm skin and dark eyes, of men with strong shoulders and shadowed hearts.
Nutty coconut oil and spicy turmeric mixed with the aromas from the banquet.
Older, less mobile guests picked at the hearty, spicy offerings.
My henna stained hands fluttered and twinned over my head. My hair whirled around my torso as my ivory sari did the same from the knees down. Bells strapped to my ankle jingled as my heels thumped with the pounding rhythm.
A woman with gamine blonde locks and lily pale skin giggled as she missed a step. She fell into her husband’s welcoming arms. The side of his turban rested on the crown of her head as he held her close. His adoring smile was a white slash against his swarthy complexion.
The song ended with dramatic flair. The women stood proud and untouchable. The men–defeated–were on their knees, staring at us in wide-eyed devotion.
We received a standing ovation. The hoots and applause surged as loud as the bhangra music itself.
The musicians began a sedate piece; the crowd catching their breath.
My partner walked beside me, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t smile and leave as I hoped. ‘You dance well.’ Rich amber eyes gleamed as they slid in my direction. His brown skin glowed with health that spoke of hot jungle. He moved, and his cologne teased my nose with a scent that reminded me of the ripest exotic fruit. ‘You are enchanting, Indira. May I visit you at your home?’
‘Not sure it will be possible before you return home, Rohit Ji.’
‘Oh. Why not?’
My polite smile stiffened at the annoyance in his tone. ‘Work.’
My gaze shifted from his disapproving one to a ceiling of dazzling lights and streamers. They arrowed towards the mandap. Beneath it the happy couple lounged on a divan stuffed with embroi
dered pillows. Gold decals and flourished mouldings embellished bursts of white flowers. Colourful petals settled on the procession rug, their floral scent enhanced by incense.
‘It will be if we wish it so.’ Rohit hesitated. ‘Your grandfather spoke to me before the ceremony. He suggested you might consider an extended sabbatical to see if my home taluk agrees with you. Bardez may not be gentrified like Vasco, but it is remarkable. Less spoiled by colonial ideals.’
I fanned my face, avoiding his gaze and settled with a polite, ‘Hmm.’
‘Will you see me off at the airport?’
I made a noncommittal noise. ‘I’m busy on that day.’
Lead Aide to the Prime Minister, I had meetings scheduled to attend. I was behind with my preparations. Playing the simpering female for a distant relative looking for an educated bride was not on my to-do-list. Nor was ferrying him to the airport, so he could badger me into visiting his home country. The point of all this? To ambush me with a marriage proposal, which ended with the scorn of my extended family once I rejected it. ‘So very busy.’ I thanked the powers that be.
Rohit’s fond expression folded. ‘You work too hard. You need a husband who will work for you.’ The back of his hand brushed my cheek. ‘You are too beautiful to waste yourself on a career.’
My chin tilted back to bring distance between us. ‘This was fun.’
He huffed a breath.
We’re done here.
‘Thanks for the dance. Enjoy the party.’
His expression slackened.
The gazes of the aunties warmed my back as they whispered their judgements. I loved my family and respected my heritage. But most times? I was a square peg mashing itself into a round hole.
I spun on my heel and escaped, weaving through the crowd with my eyes on my feet. My grandfather made eyes at a widow he claimed made the tastiest cham cham. I quickened my stride to reach him before the determined man following me across the room could charm me into another dance.
‘Babi Ji. Say your goodbyes. Our taxi is here.’
He squinted. ‘So many handsome, wealthy men.’ He tapped his cane against my ankle with enough force to make sure I got the hint. ‘Have you danced with them all? I see you and Rohit talked.’
He grinned.
‘Babi,’ I said in a low tone. ‘Please? I have work tomorrow.’
The older woman beside him snorted. Her bindi disappeared into the folds of her frown. ‘Work?’ She tutted. ‘As if that is an excuse.’
‘Auntie,’ I said with a strained smile.
Gold-painted lips thinned. ‘Girls these days. No upbringing.’
The aunties nearby mumbled agreement.
Face hot, back ramrod straight, it became easy for me to rush through a typical hour’s worth of goodbyes.
In the cab, my grandfather sighed for so long and loud he ran out of air. When I didn’t react, he cleared his throat until I looked at him. ‘Marriage is a blessing, Indira.’
‘For those who want it, I agree. Wholeheartedly.’
‘What young woman doesn’t want a husband and children?’
‘The overachieving kind. The kind who understands taking months off to plan a wedding would destroy her professional ambitions? Not to mention juggling the expectations of a traditional husband would leave her unhappy and filled with resentment.’ I was on a roll. Did he assume I hadn’t thought this through? ‘All this leading to an awful marriage ending in divorce. Worse, traumatised children who blame her for not being good enough.’ I dragged in a breath then released it. ‘That kind of woman, Babi.’
‘Bah.’ He flicked a hand in dismissal. ‘Women over the world find time to balance family and a job.’
‘Women over the world compromise their wishes. And to be clear, I don’t have a job. I have a career. I’m not giving it up to add more life to a world bursting with it.’
‘Arre.’ He gripped his cane in a white-knuckled fist. ‘I want a grandchild before I die.’
I pressed my palm to my forehead, elbow wedging into the car door. ‘Aiyo, enough, Babi Ji.’ I didn’t want to repeat this fight. My stomach clenched. ‘Someday, but it’s not on the cards today.’
‘There’s more to life than work. More to you than this selfishness.’
‘Hmm.’ Yellow lights flickered in the darkness. ‘I’m leaving early tomorrow and returning late.’
He grunted his disapproval, but said nothing else on the subject.
The next morning, I woke tired and dispirited. I rubbed my eyes, then spread my hands above my face. My gaze lingered on the glorious patterns dancing across my skin. It had been a typical wedding, but my second cousin looked happy.
I admired the mehndi for a few more moments before rolling out of bed.
Working a miracle, I condensed my morning routine into forty minutes. I replaced the bejewelled Nath in my nostril with a discreet stud and shouted down the hall. ‘Babi Ji? Are you ready?’ I hopped from one foot to the other as I slid my pumps on.
My grandfather’s presence hit the doorway.
My nose twitched at his bay leaf cologne. ‘There you are.’ No coat or shoes on his person. ‘Why aren’t you ready?’ I pulled on a blue jumper over my silk shirt. I flicked my hair from under the collar and then slid on my spectacles. My short-sightedness wasn’t terrible. I could get by without them, but the glasses helped the men in my office treat me less like an exotic side piece and more like a fifties secretary. Not a huge improvement, but enough to keep the pickup lines and outright harassment minimal.
‘Indira.’ Babi’s frail hand pressed against the doorjamb, his wrinkled face pale. ‘You cannot go to work today.’
Crossing the room, I pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow. Concerned at the level of heat that met my lips, I laid a hand on his forehead.
‘Are you sick?’ I asked.
His hands covered mine, shaking. ‘You cannot go.’
I didn’t have time for this. ‘You’re running a fever.’
I herded him out of my bedroom. We trooped down the winding stairs and into the tranquil greys and greens of the lounge. I settled him on the couch. ‘Wait here.’ I fetched him a glass of water. ‘Down this.’ I perched on the edge of my seat. ‘Alexa, mute the television.’
The peppy voice that controlled my smart home confirmed with a beep.
‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Drink.’
I rubbed his hunched back until he drank the whole glass.
He burped. ‘Better.’
The knitted wool of his cardigan crackled under my palm. ‘Have you taken your medication?’
‘Bah. It is not my heart or my blood pressure.’ He pointed a hand at the television. ‘I watched the news.’
‘Something upset you.’ World news was rarely positive. My grandfather didn’t understand why people would be cruel to each other. It left him agitated. ‘You know you’re not supposed to put it on without me. How about I put on a nature documentary? You like those.’
‘I may be old, but I am not a child, Indira.’ He sniffed. ‘The news is on every channel.’ His voice quavered. ‘Every single one.’
‘Oh?’ My stomach flipped.
I turned towards the flat screen. I inhaled at the red banner graphic ticker-taping across the bottom.
The newscaster looked stressed. Her lips flapped as she read from the teleprompter.
I eyed the bulletin, but didn’t comprehend the enormity of it on first reading.
Aliens landed.
Military on standby.
Women taken.
Had illegal aliens entered the country in a giant wave and kidnapped woman as collateral?
I unmuted the television. Listened. Ah. It was the Classified Top Secret extraterrestrials only key members of Cabinet officially acknowledged existed.
‘–early hours of the morning. Special Correspondent Elizabeth Chan is on site at Ten Downing Street, where moments ago Prime Minter Weston gave a speech declaring a nationwide alert in the United Kingdom. The Prime Minister confi
rmed the abductions of two British citizens–one a single-mother with a four-year-old–was a situation the cabinet knew of and that negotiations were taking place with the extra-terrestrials to repatriate the taken women.’
The newscaster switched camera angles, turning on her stool. Her long legs crossed. She tossed her thin braids over her shoulder, hazel eyes smouldering into the camera. ‘We have had confirmation from a source within the Prime Minister’s inner circle claiming while they discovered these abductions to have taken place, that they had, and I quote, “No–redacted expletive–control of the situation,” and that, “We are all–redacted expletive,” end quote.’ The newscaster made a wry face, plump lips curving enough to be mocking, hinting at her thoughts. ‘Elizabeth, what is happening where you are now?’
The screen switched to a young woman in a bright red coat and white scarf, a microphone clipped to her lapel.
She made petite gestures with her hands as she spoke. ‘Here at Downing Street there is a palpable state of fear and confusion. Behind me, the podium is empty. We were, however, advised the returned women are meeting with officials as we speak. One they conclude, the government will issue another statement with further information.’
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