“But she doesn’t look— If she was hurt that badly, she’d have scars, right?”
Vox shook his head. “I did not come to talk about the past.”
“You’d better come in.” She stepped back from the door, letting him in. Whatever conversation they were about to have, she didn’t want to have it in the corridor.
The cabin was a single occupancy and little more than a room with a bed. It had suited her purposes just fine. Carrie sat on the edge of the bed and watched Vox pace.
He seemed so unlike himself. Gone was his casual joy, his humor and lighthearted laughter; all the things that drew her to him initially. Now he was all seriousness.
Just then Carrie realized that one of the reasons she was upset was because Vox took nothing seriously. He did not take her seriously and she’d had more than enough of being demeaned and talked down to on Earth to last a lifetime.
“Why did you come here?” she finally asked.
“I do not like being alone in our empty quarters.”
“Your quarters were empty for years. Why be bothered now?”
He shook his head. “No. That is not why I came here. That is not what I meant to say.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to express yourself to another person.”
Vox paused in his pacing. “There are many skills I have honed in my years but communication has never been one. It is baffling and frustrating that what I feel so clearly comes out so confused.”
“I feel the same.” Good start, now get on with the hard work. “I know what happened with the Sly Fox was an accident. Something is, was, always breaking, so it was only a matter of time before something exploded. I was scared you were hurt.”
“I am uninjured. The armor protected me and the engineer was very clever. Very little of the blast or the fire affected the cockpit.”
“Nice to know something actually worked on that thing.” His words soothed her pride. Her design was quality, at least in regards to safety.
“It is a good craft,” he said. “And I am proud that my clever female created such a ship.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re sleeping with the engineer,” she said, smiling returning to her face.
“I said it before and I will continue to say it, even if you never let me in your bed again.”
She patted the bed next to her but he continued to stand. “I’m scared, Vox. My parents were… not terrible but not good. They spent my childhood alternating between ignoring me and criticizing me. My body was the wrong shape. My job was unseemly for a woman.” She sighed. The last time she saw her parents they literally told her to get radical surgery, switch professions, get married and start pumping out brats. “What if I’m no better?”
All she had was a lifetime of bad parenting to go by. She’d wreck their son.
His hands rested on her shoulders and he leaned in. “You are not alone.”
“Yes, but—”
“No, listen, stubborn female. You are not alone. We will raise our son together. My mother is many years gone but I remember her as firm but kind. And we have the clan. We are not alone.”
“Did you have a good childhood?”
He did not answer immediately but searched her face. “I have a gift for you.”
He went to the door and returned with a small wrapped package. He handed it to her, obvious pride on his face.
Carrie recognized one of the fabric panels that he placed under the potted plants. The package was slim and the bulk was mostly fabric. She unwrapped it, revealing a book. Obviously handmade with a devotion to detail, the cover was thick leather, embossed with a pattern that reminded her of Vox’s tattoos. Inside, the pages were a thick, heavy weight; the kind of paper used for watercolor painting. Each page was coated in a clear substance and hand stitched into the binding.
She flipped through the pages. A neat hand wrote out the script evenly across the pages. She skimmed, the translator chip absorbing the written language as seamlessly as it did for spoken language.
The book was illustrated in a highly stylized and colorful manner. The story seemed to be about a large, furry white male and a purple female with delicate horns. The white male was first in chains with a golden lizard man. She recognized the stylized Suhlik. The furry white male must be Mahdfel. Then the male encountered the purple female. It was love. The male burst free of his chains to save the female from the Suhlik. At the end, the white male proudly held a small violet infant. The surface details were different but the infant was undoubtedly the male’s. “This is beautiful.”
“My father’s mother painted this.”
“Oh.”
“My father’s father read this story every night to my father.”
The book was an heirloom. They argued about their child, her work, essentially the structure of their family, and Vox trotted out a family heirloom as a gift. She didn't deserve this gift. She didn’t deserve any gift. “I don’t understand.”
“I never knew my father,” he said. “He died while I was an infant. My mother told me it was his intention to read me this story but he never had the chance.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” That was heartbreaking.
“That is what it is to be Mahdfel. Our lives are brutal and short. But while I breathe, I will cherish you and our son. I will read him my father’s father’s story and know that one day he will read it to his own son.”
“Grandfather.”
“Eh?”
“We call our father’s father a grandfather. Is this your grandfather?” She pointed to the illustration of the male.
“Yes. That is my father’s father.”
So, his father’s mother was Sangrin. And his mother was Sangrin. She examined the illustrations again. “Does it bother you that our son will look like me?”
“I like the way you look.” He grinned.
She shouldn’t blush. He wasn’t flirting but that grin made her all squirmy inside. “Family resemblance are important to humans. It makes us feel like we belong when we look similar to our family. I can’t imagine what it’d be like knowing that my child wouldn’t look like me.”
Seriousness returned to his tone. “Our son will be Mahdfel. Outside appearances matter little when a blade can disfigure as easily as a big nose.”
Carrie touched her nose. “There’s nothing wrong with my nose.”
“There is not.” He landed a quick kiss on the tip of the offending nose. “I was talking about mine.”
“Your schnauz isn’t that bad.”
He tilted his head to one side. “The translator does not know this word. Interesting.”
“It mean nose.”
“I think it means you are teasing me and you are no longer angry.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, buster. We haven’t addressed the big issue here.”
Vox crouched down on the floor in front of her. “I have many ears.”
She took a deep breath but it came out as a giggle at his mangled idiom. Better to get the thorny issue out of the way now. “I love you, Vox.”
He smiled. “I love you as well. You are my light and my beacon.”
That was sweet but it threatened to distract her. She stroked the book cover. The leather was worn to a glossy sheen on the spine. It had been read many, many times. “I love you and I realize it was selfish of me to demand that you ignore your dream so I could follow mine. We need to compromise. I’ll get more rest and eat all my vegetables and I know the bigger I get, the more I’ll slow down, but I’m fine now. I’m not an invalid.”
“This pleases me.”
“When I arrived, you gave me space. You made me feel safe and wanted. I want that back.”
“Space?”
“No, being safe but not smothered. You did it when I arrived.” She smiled. “It was the thing I liked best about you.”
“Not my wicked scar? I thought females admired scars.”
“Oh, the scar is very impressive,” she managed to s
ay with a straight face. “But I liked the other stuff, too.”
“I will compromise,” he said, “and not smother you. And you will slow your work when the baby demands.”
Now that she understood he had lost people he cared about and seen loved ones seriously harmed, his overreaction made sense.
They could do this. They could find a middle ground.
“Come to bed,” she said, holding out her hand. “You need to practice reading that story.”
Chapter Thirteen
Vox
He had always dreaded off-duty hours. Time spent alone in empty quarters was time wasted. He occupied himself with additional training and when he couldn’t tolerate one more flight simulation, he socialized. When he had been stationed on Earth’s moon base, it was easier. Terrans were sociable and the base had many recreational activities. In fact, Vox had been delighted to learn, Terrans had a medical condition they suffered from if they were not able to socialize properly: cabin fever. The base offered a confounding amount of pleasurable activities to fill off-duty time. Fascinated, Vox threw himself into sporting clubs, film screenings and whatever activity sounded interesting.
The Mahdfel, however, had no need for extensive socialization or pleasurable activities to fill off-duty time. It was not in their nature. Instinct kept circling back to battle and breeding. If a male was not providing for his mate, or searching for her, then he was training to improve his battle performance.
The Judgment reflected this truth in the many, many training rooms and arena. The battle cruiser had no recreational spaces. No cinema. No eating place other than the gigantic mess hall. No green spaces that served no purpose other than to be green and pleasant. No place to dance. No place for non-combat related sports. Vox had grown fond of Terran soccer. The game required speed and agility, an area in which he excelled.
Before his mate arrived, Vox had filled his off-duty time by visiting Meridan and Daisy but he had not been able to do that every day without the risk of aggravating their mates. He limited their socialization time and Vox enduring sitting alone in his empty quarters, watching programs on the Galactic Network.
That particular evening, when he arrived at their quarters, he found his mate sitting on the couch, her work spread out on the low table and the floor. The view screen on the far wall was set to a beach scene he did not recognize and sounds of the surf pounding the shore.
He stood in the doorway, watching his sweet mate with her bowed head, red hair escaping from her bun like a trail of fire. Joy filled him. A male could find no better sight to greet him after a long patrol.
And he had almost lost her.
Carrie looked up, finally noticing him.
Carrie
“Do not let me disturb you,” Vox said.
“No, it’s fine.” She wasn’t making much progress anyway. All the images were starting to blur together.
“I enjoy watching you work.” Vox sat on the couch next to her, the cushions jostling as he settled.
“Really? You’ll just be watching me think. Super exciting.” No one had ever expressed an interest in her work before, except her brother. When she talked about work, Tucker’s eyes glazed over. Carrie turned toward Vox and searched his face for any glazing or signs that he humored her.
He leaned forward, eyes keen. “Thinking is sexy.”
She snorted. “Sure.”
“You thinking is sexy,” he said. “Why don’t you sit and explain to me what you are working on.”
“It’s Project Sly Fox.” It was always that project. She’d never finish, it seemed. Before she had a chance to settle back down into the couch cushions, Vox picked her up and placed her on his lap. “What are you doing?”
“I am listening. Explain.” His arms wrapped around her middle, keeping her firmly in place. This close, she could feel the crisp fabric of his uniform against her back and his hot breath on the back of her neck.
“You’re not a very good chair,” she said.
“I disagree. I make a fantastic chair.” He nodded, satisfied with his status as furniture.
Carrie turned back to the data suspended in midair above her tablet. “So, what’s on the left is the original blueprints. The middle are the manufacturing specs. Far right are the defective parts.” Project Sly Fox had part failure after part failure. Never anything major enough to keep the ship from flying but enough to warrant constant repair and tinkering. The landing gear failure was just the latest example. “And this is the landing gear.” An image enlarged. “The damage is consistent with fatigue but the material should not have worn out so quickly.” The lightweight carbon compound could last for years but Sly Fox failed in a matter of months, for no apparent reason.
His hands undid the loose bun, her hair spilled down her shoulders and back. His fingers raked through her locks. “You should wear your hair down.”
“I thought you were listening.”
“I’m riveted.” Vox’s hands drifted down from her waist to her thighs. She nearly lost her train of thought as he delved between her thighs and pried them open. “Tell me more,” he said, lips to her ear. He nipped lightly at the lobe and then down her neck as she tried to explain the acceptable margin of error for manufacturing.
“I can only assume the landing gear—are you even listening?—failed because the plant cheaped out and used an inferior material. We’ll have to—” She gasped. One hand pressed against her stomach and the other slipped down the front of her trousers. “Have to…”
“Hmm?” he murmured, plying her ear and neck with more kisses, adding licks to the mix. “I assure you, you have my complete attention.”
“I’m working—”
“And I’m listening.” His finger rubbed against her already damp panties. Carrie couldn’t control herself, her hips rocked. His pace increased to match her growing urgency.
Screw it. She could work later. She wanted him. Now.
She pulled away long enough to strip. Vox growled with approval, pushing her back down to his lap. She straddled him, back to his chest, and he pushed her forward. Her butt lifted.
“You are a pretty sight,” he said, stroking her pink folds. “Are you ready for me?”
“Please. Yes.”
She leaned forward, hands braced against the table for support. His cock pushed at her entrance and slowly slid forward. So good. She moaned as he stretched her core.
He pumped into her in short, hard thrusts. Her head fell forward and Carrie found herself staring at her tablet, at a box of code. The new perspective sparked an idea and she needed to hold onto it, but Vox felt too good and she was going to come soon.
His hands dug into her hips, pulling her back roughly for a new angle and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. How could she think when he was doing that.
“Keep doing that,” she said. “Don’t stop. I’m—”
Her climax broke with such force her hands slipped from the table. Vox caught her before she fell to the ground, pulling her back into his lap. He lifted her up and down on his cock, working her until he shuddered with his own release, hot cum splashing down her thighs.
His arms wrapped around her and he kissed the back of her neck. “My sweet mate.”
Carrie carefully picked herself up and twisted in his lap. “I think I found something.”
Chapter Fourteen
Carrie
They met in the warlord’s ready room, off the main bridge. Carrie might have been unnerved by the sheer size of the massive aliens but she was too engrossed in the data to notice how tall they stood over her. And Vox was there. She relaxed. Nothing bad could happen as long as her man was there.
“Give me your report,” the warlord said.
Carrie tried not to stare. Missing one horn, Paax was not the tallest—that was Seeran—or the most muscular—that was Mylomon—but his presence dominated the room. The warriors snapped to attention when the warlord spoke. His gaze burned with a ruthless intelligence that made her squirm. If Mercy ha
d not gushed on and on about her “sweetie pie”, Carrie might have been terrified of the male.
“We have evidence that someone from Earth has attempted to end the life of warrior Vox Karey,” Seeran said crisply.
“Show me this evidence.”
Seeran rattled off a list of incidents. Paax folded his arms across his broad chest, unimpressed. “You’ve give me a list of expected failures. I asked for evidence.”
Carrie opened up files on her tablet. She started with photos. The tablet projected a hologram above the screen. “This is the original model cast for the parabolic magnet.” The model was a clean cast in 3D printed resin. “This is the part that was actually manufactured. You’ll see the defects here and here.” She pointed out the subtle flaws.
“A fault in manufacturing,” Paax said.
“That’s what I thought. And we see this pattern again and again, all in minor system components. Meaning the prototype was airworthy but it would never do what it was designed to do.”
“This is circumstantial. Sloppy manufacturing is not a conspiracy.”
“Again, that’s what I thought. Until this.” Carrie then pulled up a chunk of code, the text glowed amber against a black background. “This is the code that controls the fuel injection. And this—” She waved up a new box of code. “Is a firmware update from the day before the accident.”
“And the significance is?”
“Two things, really. One, this bit of code tells the onboard system how much fuel to inject. The new code triples the amount of fuel. And the explosion happened because—”
“There was too much fuel,” Paax said. “How is this more than bad code?”
“The firmware update came from Earth,” Carrie said. “Project Sly Fox has only one team member. Me.”
Realization dawned on the warlord’s face. “Someone on Earth is sabotaging the project.”
“They might have been for ages and I just now noticed,” Carrie said, excitement carrying her away. “My brother is the one who’s good with programming. Honestly, Sly Fox has had so many setbacks and problems that if I was anyone other Josiah West’s daughter, it would have been shut down. It’s been a one woman show for more than a year, since the prototype left Earth. And why would someone on Earth want to blow up my baby?”
Vox: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 4) Page 9