Outside the ship, the Qurilixian moon was large and bright, the biggest she had ever seen from a planet’s surface. The bonfire flames lapped at the starry night, sending sparks of ash into the cool air. In the distance, moonlight revealed the vague impression of mountains over the festival valley where the locals had set up the celebration. When she stepped forward the cheers of rowdy men washed over her. Morrigan blushed despite herself, feeling almost naked in her sacrificial-like attire. This wasn’t the first time she’d participated in the events she reported on, but it was the first time she was the center of attention during one.
The grounds were adorned with large pyramid tents that had small fluttering tokens fastened to them. Fire torches lit dim earthen pathways. Ribbons and banners floated on the breeze in many brilliant colors. Near the back, a couple presided over the area from throne-like chairs with presumably married couples seated directly in front of them. The wives sat firmly upon their husbands’ laps. Morrigan was happy to discover that her information so far seemed correct. Uploads tended to only be as good as the researchers writing them.
By their long hair and tunic style clothing, the local men appeared very much like the Old Earth Viking Era. Her father had insisted she learn about Old Earth history, convinced as they left their home world that the environmental problems would soon kill it. The old planet lingered on though. The married women could be heard laughing at the spectacle of those barbarians too young to participate in this year’s festival, as they shouted and posed for the prospective brides.
Morrigan swallowed nervously. Some of the bridal candidates in front of her modeled before the watching crowd, twisting and preening for attention. She had the sudden urge to walk around them in an attempt to avoid the stage the docking platform had become. Normally she was on the sidelines watching, blending into the crowd to take her notes. Here, she was the one being watched. Dealing with slime-dwelling slugs was one thing—but humanoids? And not just any humanoids—strong, virile, women-starved, healthy, male humanoids. At the last minute, she remembered to snap a picture of the married couples and of the campgrounds.
“Oh, my!” Gena exclaimed breathlessly, leaning forward to peer over Morrigan’s shoulder. “Do you see them, Rigan? With men like that, who cares if you marry the gardener?”
Morrigan followed the woman’s eyes, curiously looking down the docking plank to the ground. The men standing below them were indeed handsome. Although those behind the grooms laughed and continued to pose their muscles, the true bachelors held perfectly still. Their bronzed bodies were like statues, with only their lungs expanding and contracting to show they lived. Morrigan likened their breathing to that of a wild beast in a cage, just waiting to pounce on their captor the minute the door was opened.
She was supposed to walk down the aisle framed by predator flesh?
Morrigan wanted to run back inside and hide. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet refused to move. The men were looking up at them. Black leather masks covered the grooms’ faces, hiding them from forehead to upper lip. Their lustful eyes shone bright from the eye slits, like liquid metal.
Or was that her overactive writer’s imagination? Morrigan wasn’t sure.
“Go.” Gena gave her an irritated shove, forcing her to descend down the plank. The crush of brides behind her kept her from stopping, though her feet tried. There was nowhere to run.
The closer she walked to them, the worse her heartbeat thundered. The Draig males were every inch the proud warrior class they were rumored to be, some even towering nearly seven feet in height. Fur loincloths wrapped around their fit waists to leave bare their muscular legs and chests. The fire glistened off their smooth, oiled skin. Golden bands of intricate design clasped around sinewy biceps as if to draw attention to their brute strength. All the self-defense moves in the universe wouldn’t stop one of these warriors if they wanted to spring forward and grab her. Crystals bound with leather straps hung from their solid necks. A few of them started to glow and the moment they did their owners would smile.
Morrigan’s heart pounded harder, partly in fear and partly in excitement. The sexual frustration on the ship had been potent for the last month as the women talked about nothing but men and weddings. Until that moment, Morrigan had been able to resist its lurid pull. But there was something to being at the campground—something erotic in its smell of burning wood and its rustic, yet colorful, sights. Primitives would not have cameras recording their deeds, not like more civilized places. If one of these men were to grab her hand and lead her away to the nearby trees no one beyond this festival would ever know.
Music played primal and earthy in the background, hypnotic, enticing, gyrating in its rhythms. Captured by its spell, she suddenly realized she was walking down the aisle of hot flesh. The heat had to be coming from the grooms. How else could she explain the sudden rise in her temperature and the dizziness in her head? They were so tall that the crowd behind them disappeared from view, except for peeks of movement between arms and waists. She glanced to one side and then the other. Her heart continued to race. Blood rushed inside her ears, deafening her.
Somehow, her feet managed to keep moving, propelling her forward in line as if following the woman in front of her was her only option. The watching crowd had quieted as the bachelors studied their choices, concentrating on them with their serious eyes and harshly pressed lips. Only when and if the glow started around their necks did the men relax.
Morrigan was halfway through and no one had yet to seize hold of a bride. She started to sigh with relief. Then her heart—and time—stopped. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes held a solid blue gaze beneath a mask. The crystal around the man’s neck began to pulse and glow with a white light, illuminating his face. His eyes narrowed and a slow, leisurely smile commanded her attention to his lips.
The cool night breeze caressed the tops of her breasts, as real as a hand against her skin. Chills worked their way over her bare throat and face. Her hand lifted without her commanding it to, as if to reach out. It was held back by the silk shackles of her belt.
Blinking slowly, the man nodded at her in greeting. She turned her head to watch as she passed by him. His smile dropped from his features, replaced by passionate intent and electrifying promises. Morrigan shivered as her heart began to race anew.
As she moved forward through the remaining line of men, she looked around. She wondered at the curious feeling in her veins as she thought of the connection she’d shared with the blue-eyed barbarian. She wanted to look back once more, but her neck refused to turn. He was like all the other grooms and yet somehow different.
The others were handsome, but none caught her notice or returned her gaze for very long. Making her way to a raised platform laden with a gigantic feast, Morrigan forgot all about the emerald on her finger and her newspaper chip assignment. Male servants greeted them, their faces open and kind and a little curious. But none were as spellbinding as the man with the radiant blue eyes had been.
* * *
Ualan of Draig smiled as the human woman walked past him. She was clad in his people’s traditional garb. The short, blue veil fluttered over her dark locks. His bride had hair the color of night and wide eyes that he would gladly spend the rest of his life gazing into. The material of the dress wrapped around her body, hugging her curves in a way that made a man ache when watching it.
Whichever ancestor had conceived this wedding tradition had been sadistic. To have his destiny right there within arm’s reach and unable to hold her was torment. Already he was tortured, his shaft tight with longing beneath the loincloth. Slowly, he felt a change beginning inside of him as the crystal around his neck glowed with untold promises. Ualan smiled. The gods had indeed been kind to him. Why wouldn’t they be? He did his duty and lived a good life and she was to be his reward.
As her hand lifted to him, he was surprised. The brides rarely moved, except to walk, while inside the Procession of Finding. If they did, it was ultimately consi
dered a good omen, though some of the elders believed it meant for a hard beginning. Ualan was optimistic. His marriage would surely be blessed. His body had instantly felt the fiery bond between them when she looked at him. She felt it, too. How could she not? It was so strong she must have experienced it.
When the last bride passed, the Draig bachelors turned to walk in the other direction. They were abnormally quiet, as was tradition. Those who had been blessed needed to go to the temple and give thanks. Those who were not so fortunate needed to regroup, most would probably even shift into their dragon forms and run into the forest to be rid of their heartache. Besides, it was good to let the travel-weary women rest and eat. For those who were chosen by the crystals, it would be a long and pleasurable night.
Chapter 3
The feast had been set before the brides, laid out on large trenchers and spread over a long wooden table, like the offerings of a community potluck. The locals dined on their own around the campfires, as they kept their distance from the prospective brides. Morrigan saw some of the wives feed their husbands by hand. Others kissed, or laughed at a private joke, or touched hands. It was a collection of intimate scenes played out on a public stage.
Curious, she let her gaze roam over the campground. The bachelors were missing. She had been in too much of a daze to see where they had gone off to. The dreamlike fog had astounded her at first, until she had determined it was just nerves. She was used to watching the spotlight from the sidelines, not being in the middle of it, and that much virile male attention was bound to make any woman lightheaded.
Morrigan was hesitant to taste the roasted two-horned pigs and blocks of Qurilixian blue bread with whipped cheese. Though it smelled wonderful, she had never partaken of an alien meal that wasn’t first purified in a food simulator. Thinking of all the extraterrestrial parasites that might be in it, she held back. She had done a story on the Da’Na parasite once. Gus had needed a reporter and she’d been the closest one. Though relatively harmless to non-humanoids, what those little critters did to their human hosts hadn’t been pretty. Thinking of the popping stink pustules she had been forced to photograph on the crash survivors, she gagged. If she never went back to the planet of Divan it would be too soon. The memory alone was enough to keep her stomach from rumbling.
Servants carried pitchers full of a strange berry wine, calling it, “Maiden’s Last Breath,” as they offered it to her. Though she had a newspaper-issued universal translator implanted behind her ear to help her understand several main languages, the locals here spoke the more universally known Old Star language. She was glad, because she doubted the translators included the Draig vernacular. Thinking the liquor would definitely kill any adverse critters floating in the drink, she tried it. The sweet taste was intoxicatingly wonderful.
Most of the brides dined in jittery silence. However, a few of the more boisterous flirted with the handsome servants, who were presumably too young to participate as grooms, and who were more fully clothed than the bachelors had been. Since it was hard for the brides to lift their arms, the attractive servants retrieved anything they desired. Some even went so far as to offer the women food by their own hand.
The sparkling glint of the emerald on her finger caught Morrigan’s attention. She realized she’d spent most of the meal without taking a picture or video feed. How could she have forgotten her assignment? Setting down her goblet of berry wine, she put her hand under the table and pressed the emerald once to begin recording.
Looking again for the men, she leaned to Nadja at her side and asked, “Where do you think the grooms went off to?”
Nadja jolted, as if surprised to hear Morrigan speak. Lifting her glass, the woman began to answer but was cut off by the servant who rushed to fill her half-empty goblet. Nadja again gave a startled jump in her seat at his sudden appearance, but let him do his job. Poor woman. She was a nervous creature. It didn’t take the observations of a reporter to know that the reserved Nadja wasn’t used to the primitive scene before them.
“They go to make an offering to the gods,” the young servant answered Morrigan. Nadja lowered her goblet to the table when he finished his task. The servant topped off Morrigan’s goblet, urging her to drink with a wave of his hand. Morrigan smiled at him, trying not to focus her eyes on a thin scar across the tip of his nose. “They ask for blessing this night in finding a wife.”
“I thought that is what the bridal procession was all about,” Morrigan said, thinking the servant’s superstitions adorable.
“The Procession of Finding reveals the gods’ will but does not guarantee a match.” The servant didn’t move away. He looked down at her drink, again urging silently for her to drink it. Morrigan lifted it and took several obvious gulps. The servant grinned and walked away to attend some of the other ladies in need of more alcohol.
“Are you nervous?” Nadja asked in a hush when they were alone. She didn’t wait for Morrigan to answer as she giggled apprehensively. “I can barely sit still. I think this drink has a lot of liquor or something in it.”
Morrigan’s head had become a bit light, but she continued to drink anyway, knowing it would take more than a little wine to get her drunk. However, as she finished her goblet and a fog began to edge the sides of her vision, she rethought her assumption about the drink and mustered up her courage to try the blue bread. She hoped it would soak up the liquor and keep her level. She wouldn’t be able to write her story if she were too drunk to remember what happened.
“Rigan,” Nadja whispered. Morrigan looked over at the woman’s pale face. Her blue eyes danced around in her porcelain skin. Leaning forward, she said, “I’m scared. I think I’ve made a mistake. Do you think they would let me go back to the ship?”
“What’s wrong?” Morrigan had spoken to the woman a few times, but mostly Nadja had kept to herself.
“I…” Nadja paused and shook her head, seeming very close to crying. “They’re very big, aren’t they?”
“Who, the men?” Morrigan asked needlessly. She thought of the magnetic blue eyes of the warrior who captured her notice in the receiving line, visualizing them as if he was before her. Oh, yes, the warrior men were very big.
“Yes,” Nadja’s wide eyes looked down as she swallowed nervously. “Do you think they will…will hurt us? They seem bigger than most humanoid men. This place is not what I imagined when I signed on. Actually, I don’t know what I imagined.”
Morrigan detected the note of innocence in the woman. “Nadja, have you been with a man before?”
Nadja shook her head, embarrassed.
“Not even a droid?” Morrigan insisted. She had known that she would have to get rid of her virginity in order to get her story. Though, to her disappointment, none of Galaxy Brides’ technicians had said anything to her about it, except to clarify her status as they went through her records. That wasn’t necessarily conclusive. It was possible they’d suspected who she was after the history scan. She could lie about her occupation, but her travel records were harder to fake.
“No.” Nadja swallowed nervously and her gaze roamed over the fluttering tents in the distance. Shivering, she admitted, “I was always too embarrassed to go to the clubs and try one. But, I’ve seen pictures. Do you think these guys are shaped differently than human males? The uploads were not specific as to their heritage.”
“I haven’t given it much thought. I think galaxy law requires the species to be, uh, physically compatible before they are matched up. Otherwise, the marriage would do no good. We’re all humanoids. Besides, I hate to sound crass, but the whole point of this is so they can propagate their species.”
“I suppose,” Nadja said, not appearing to find comfort in Morrigan’s cold examination of their situation. The woman drank the rest of her wine. Without having to be asked, a servant was right there to refill it for her. Nadja drank that cup too.
“Did you ask any of the others?” Morrigan inquired when the servant had retreated down the table. She tried to keep th
e hopeful note out of her voice. “Have any of them said anything about not being with a man before? Or maybe having been with a man?”
“We’ve never discussed it.” Nadja shook her head in denial.
Morrigan forced an understanding smile. She’d bet Nadja found such subjects improper, and only said something now because she was scared and on her way to being completely intoxicated.
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Morrigan assured her. “I hear several of the women have had their virginity replaced. So it can’t be that bad, can it? It hurts for a second, but no more than the series of shots they gave us on the way here.”
“I suppose you’re right, though I hadn’t heard that.” Nadja seemed to calm down and nodded her head. The ease didn’t last long. Suddenly, she tensed, staring in a way that made Morrigan turn her attention down the raised dining platform. Nadja’s voice left her with a breathy, “Oh!”
Oh was right. The grooms were back, walking toward their table. Slick, oiled muscles gleamed in the firelight. The fur loincloths hid very little. Morrigan fumbled for her emerald, bumping it several times before she realized she’d left it recording earlier.
Where there had been silence, music again filled the air. Its low rhythm was as sweet as a warm sun and as gentle as the wind’s caressing kisses. One by one, the prospective brides fell silent. The handsome warriors made their way to stand below the tables under the watchful gazes of the brides. The male gazes scanned and quickly fixed upon the women of their choice. Morrigan heard Nadja breathe anxiously, but she had no words to offer the woman. Her eyes had found those of haunting blue.
There were fewer men than before. Morrigan guessed it was because some had decided not to choose a mate. She blinked slowly, noticing again the strangely glowing crystal hanging on the man’s neck. A spark of intensity coursed through her as she looked at it. It was an electrifying fire in her veins, turning her blood to molten heat. Glancing about, she noticed that all the men present had a glowing crystal. She had little time to wonder as the blue-eyed savage who captured her notice began to climb the platform steps to stand before her.
Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition Page 3